THE  CRY  OF  YOUTH 


By  Harry  Kemp 
JUDAS,    A    PLAY 


THE  CRY   OF  YOUTH 


By 

HARRY  KEMP 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
MCMXIV 


COPYRIGHT,  1914,  BY  MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 


To 

Gaylord  Wilshire 


3C0409 


PAGE 

I 
2 


CONTENTS 

JOSEPH'S  LAMENT 

CARRYING  THE  BANNER 

NICODEMUS 

LYNCH-LAW  g 

THE  RIDE 

JOSES,   BROTHER  OF  JESUS 

BATHSHEBA  ^ 

THE   SCAPEGOAT 

THE   CONFLICT 

WHY   BID   LOVE   STAY? 

BLACK    DEATH 

HASTEN,    CLASP    MAIDEN    LIFE 

THE   LIVE   CONSCIENCE 

THE   PAGAN    SAINT 

PEACE,    PEACE 

THE  PAINTED  LADY 

THE  CONTRAST  32 

QUICK    AND   DEAD 

LOVE  IN  OLD   MEXICO 

SHE   CAME    FROM    HER    NARROW    BED 

THE   SONG   OF  RED  REILLY 


PRITHEE,    STRIVE   NOT 

30 

39 
40 


MY  LADY'S  BATH 

•JO 
FICKLENESS 


MY   GYPSY   MAID 

THE  DECEIT 

KANSAS 

THE  LITTLE  BROOK  OVER  THE  HILL 

vii 


viii  Contents 


PAGE 

THE  STAMPEDE  46 

AH,   SWEET  THE  BIRDS  48 

WINTER  49 

IN  A  STORM  50 

INSOUCIANCE  IN    STORM  51 

EVENING  ON  LAKE  SUPERIOR  53 

WEIN,    WEIB !  54 

A    SAILOR    CHANTEY  55 

BOB  57 

THE  BOXCAR  58 

A  TRAMP'S  CONFESSION  60 

BREAD  LINES  63 

A   BED  66 

THE  OPEN  WORLD  68 

REVOLT  69 

THE  HARVEST  FLY'S  COMPLAINT  70 

WHITE  SHEETS  73 

CASHING  IN  74 

THE  CATTLEMAN'S  BURIAL  76 

AWAY  FROM  TOWN  78 

THE  CATTLE  TRAIN  80 

GOD,  THE  ARCHITECT  8l 

I    SAW   A    NAKED   SOUL  82 

THE  POLTERGEIST  83 

HYMN  OF  THE  STAR-FOLK  TO  GOD  .  84 

THE   STILLBORN    IN    HEAVEN  87 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  PYRAMID-BUILDERS  89 

SONG  OF  A   FAIRY  WIFE  QI 

LILITH  93 

THE  SONG  OF  ISRAFEL  98 

SUSPICION  101 

IMPENITENCE  102 

IN   A  CHOP-SUEY  JOINT  104 

LONELINESS  106 


Contents  ix 


PAGE 

THE   BIRD   OF    PARADISE  107 

FISHERMEN  I08 

A   PRAYER  109 

THE   STAR  OF  GOD'S   MALISON  III 

HELL'S  RESURRECTION  112 

I  SING  THE  BATTLE  115 

THE  CONQUERORS  117 

GEOLOGY  I IQ 

VIEWPOINT  120 

IN   DEBT  121 

LOVELY  CHILD  122 

PAUL  AND  OMAR  123 

MT.  RANIER  124 

THE  VOICE  OF  CHRISTMAS  127 

THE  MOTH'S  SONG  129 

THIS    PALTRY    "l"  I3O 

PREDESTINATION  131 

SIGHT    BEYOND    SIGHT  132 

I  DEEMED  I   DWELT  ALONE  133 

THE  THRESHING  MACHINE  134 

THE  CABLES   AND  THE    WIRELESS  136 

THE  CRY   OF   YOUTH  I4O 


POEMS   BY   HARRY   KEMP 


JOSEPH'S    LAMENT 

TV/1"  Y  boy,  my  boy,  and  art  thou  dead? 
1V1      \Vould  they  had  stretched  these  limbs 

instead 

Upon  this  bitter  leafless  tree! 
But  thou  wouldst  pay  small  heed  to  me! 
Yet  hadst  thou  given  me  heed,  my  boy, 
Thou'dst  known  a  workman's  quiet  joy: 
To  sit  in  the  declining  sun 
At  peace  when  the  day's  stint  is  done — 
A  wife  had  sat  at  thy  right  hand: 
A  cot,  a  little  space  of  land 
With  one  gray  olive  tree  before, 
And  a  seat  by  a  vine-clad  door 
Had  blessed  thee,  happy  at  thy  trade, 
And  a  small  son  had  climbed  and  played 
With  broken  prattle  on  thy  knee — 
But,  son,  thy  soul  was  deaf  to  me  ... 
And  so  thou  hang'st  where  all  may  see  ... 
O  shameful  death!    O  shameless  tree! 
My  murdered  boy!  .  .  .  Woe,  woe  is  me! 


Harry   Kemp 


CARRYING   THE    BANNER 

[Which  is  tramp-argot  for  walking  the  street 
all  night] 

T  HAD  no  bed  to  go  to  and  I  had  to  walk  the 

street. 
I  passed  a  lone  policeman  going  up  and  down 

his  beat. 
A  solitary  cab  whirled  by  and  made  a  hollow 

sound. 
I   stamped  my  feet  to  keep  them  warm  and 

tramped  around  and  'round. 
A  strangling  icy  fog  dropped  down  and  draped 

the  town  in  white 
As  one  would  shroud  a  maiden  perished  ere 

her  wedding  night. 
I  moved  as  in  a  land  of  ghosts.    The  wind  went 

thro'  my  hair 
Like  the  fingers  of  a  demon  searching  for  some 

stigma  there. 
The  moon  hung  watery  and  thin.     The  stars 

had  faded  out. 


Carrying   the  Banner 


Amid  a  labyrinth  of  night  I  groped  and  groped 

about. 
I  moved  along  the  water-front.    I  felt  so  small 

and  lone 

As  I  heard  the  great  ships  at  the  docks  strain 
at  their  ropes  and  groan. 

I  footed  it  thro'  Chatham  Square  and  up  along 
Broadway. 

I  prayed  the  Lord  to  take  the  night  and  give 
me  back  the  day, 

The  warm  kind  day,  the  cheery  day  that  kissed 
one's  eyes  with  light, 

For  it  seemed  to  me  the  world  at  last  had  found 
its  endless  night  .  .  . 

But  suffice  to  say  I  saw  the  East  stir  and  grow 
pale  apace 

As  a  coward  loses  color  when  he  looks  in  Mur 
der's  face, 

And  then  the  City  stirred  and  stretched  and 
drew  a  quickened  breath 

And  struggled  out  of  nightmare  sleep  like  Laz 
arus  from  death.  .  .  . 

And  then  I  walked  alone  no  more  .  .  .  The 
streets  grew  thronged  with  men — 

And  I  said  'Thank  God'  with  all  my  heart,  for 
it  was  day  again! 


Harry   Kemp 


NICODEMUS 

There  was  a  man  of  the  Pharisees,  named 
Nicodemus,  a  ruler  of  the  Jews;  the  same  came 
to  Jesus  by  night. — John  3:1-2. 

And  there  came  also  Nicodemus,  which  at 
the  first  came  to  Jesus  by  night. — John  19:39. 

A  ND  Nicodemus  came  by  night 
•*  *•     When  none  might  hear  or  see — 
He  came  by  night  to  shun  men's  sight 
And  away  by  night  slunk  he. 

He  dared  not  come  by  light  of  day 

To  move  where  sinners  trod: 
He  must  hold  apart  from  the  common  heart, 

For  he  was  a  Mai  of  God.  .  .  . 

But  the  honest  Christ,  he  walked  with  men 

Nor  held  his  ways  apart — 
With  publicans  talked,  with  harlots  walked, 

And  loved  them  all  in  his  heart. 


Nic  ode  mus 


Came  Nicodemus  to  Christ  by  night; 

And  long  they  reasoned,  alone, 
Till  the  Old  man  saw  the  sham  of  the  Law 

That  turned  his  being  to  stone: 

He  tore  the  formal  husks  from  his  life; 

He  was  born  again,  though  gray. 
And,  erect  with  the  youth  of  a  Living  Truth, 

He  dared  the  world  by  day! 


Harry   Kemp 


LYNCH-LAW 

^T^HE  deed  he  had  done  was  a  terrible  one, 
•*•        And  the  wrath-roused  countryside, 
Pale  silent  groups  of  resolute  men, 
Scoured  every  wood  and  swamp  and  glen 
Where  a  desperate  man  might  hide. 

And  at  last  they  struck  his  straggling  trail 

By  the  shores  of  a  reedy  lake. 
They  followed  with  bloodhounds  all  night  long. 

They  ran  him  down  like  a  snake 
And  dragged  him  forth,  when  the  dawn  was 
red, 

From  the  tangled  canes  of  a  brake. 

They  pinioned  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
With  buffets  his  head  was  bowed, 

And  the  mob  rushed  roaring  at  his  side 
Like  a  storm-blown  thunder-cloud. 

And  the  victim  shook  like  grass  in  a  brook — - 
His  soul  was  shaken  with  dread  .  .  . 

For  his  was  a  deed  for  which  men  swing, 
And  swing  by  the  neck  till  dead. 


Lynch-Law 


They  hurried  him  on  in  a  farmer's  cart 

Where  the  road  wound  rough  and  brown— 

And  silence  fell,  like  a  hush  in  hell, 
Over  the  outraged  town, 

As  the  people  thronged  the  paven  streets 

In  dreadful  holiday 
To  behold  a  mob  of  maddened  men 

Take  another  man's  life  away. 

They  dragged  the  victim  across  the  park; 

They  threw  him  down  in  the  square; 
They  noosed  the  halter  about  his  neck 

Muscular,  swart,  and  bare — 
And  a  hundred  men  rushed  back  with  the  rope, 

And  he  shot  straight  up  in  the  air. 

All  day  IT  swung  from  the  telegraph  pole 

In  the  eyes  of  the  sullen  town — 
As  tho'  the  body  still  held  the  soul 
All  day  it  swayed  from  the  telegraph  pole — • 
But  at  even  they  cut  it  down  .  .  . 

Yes,  they  let  it  swing,  the  horrible  thing, 

In  the  eyes  of  the  sullen  town, 
Till  the  sheriff  came  with  tardy  shame, 

At  eve,  and  cut  it  down. 


Harry   Kemp 


THE    RIDE 

T  STRUCK  him  down  in  sudden  wrath 

Over  a  trivial  word  .  .  . 
I  shook  him  twice.  ...  I  shook  him  thrice 

He  neither  spake  nor  stirred  .  .  . 

Then  forth  into  the  night  I  fled 

And  spurred  my  flying  steed; 
In  faith  a  lucky  man  was  I, 

For  none  had  seen  the  deed. 

All  night  I  rode  among  the  hills. 

The  sky  arched  deep  and  wide.  .  .  . 
Ah !  like  the  presence  of  the  wind 

I  felt  him  at  my  side. 

At  dawn  I  passed  men  on  the  road: 

They  spake  with  friendly  tone; 
One  proffered  me  companionship — 

He  thought  I  rode  alone. 


The  Ride 


"Right  gladly  will  I  ride  with  you," 

I  answered;  but,  unseen, 
The  man  that  I  had  done  to  death 

Slipped  fearfully  between. 

"I  swear  you  are  a  gloomy  man," 

My  fleshly  fellow  said — 
He  knew  not  my  companionship 

Was  wholly  with  the  dead.  .  .  . 

I  stayed  for  neither  food  nor  rest; 

My  horse  with  staggering  pace 
Strove  time  on  time  to  pause  our  flight 

At  brook  or  grassy  place, — 

And  still,  when  fell  the  second  night, 

That  thing  of  shadowy  fear 
Kept  riding  near  me  like  the  wind 

And  whispered  in  my  ear  .  .  . 

Aha!  I  saw  him  .  .  .  now!  .  .  .  at  last  I 

With  murder  still  engrossed 
I  struck  .  .  .  He  parted  like  a  mist.  .  .  . 

I  could  not  slay  his  ghost. 

I  mantled  up  my  face  in  dread 
And  let  my  horse  run  on ; 


io  Harry   Kemp 


HE  too  had  seen,  nor  needed  now 
The  whip  to  urge  him  on  ... 

Ere  day  we  fell,  my  horse  and  I, 
Where  cactus  sprawled  in  sand — 

"Let's  play  at  cards,"  the  shadow  said; 
I  rose  at  his  command; 

I  dealt  the  cards  at  his  command, 
(My  steed  lay  dead  thereby), 

"And  if  YOU  win,  you  live!"  he  said, 
"And  if  I  win  you  die!" 

We  played:     "I  win!  I  win!"  he  cried 
The  dawn  rose,  vast  and  still  .  .  . 

Behold,  the  sheriff  and  his  men 
Come  riding  o'er  the  hill! 


Joses,  Brother  of  Jesus  1 1 


JOSES,    BROTHER    OF    JESUS 

TOSES,  the  brother  of  Jesus,  plodded  from 
•^      day  to  day, 
With  never  a  vision  within  him  to  glorify  his 

clay; 
Joses,  the  brother  of  Jesus,  was  one  with  the 

heavy  clod, 
But  Christ  was  the  soul  of  rapture,  and  soared, 

like  a  lark,  with  God. 
Joses,  the  brother  of  Jesus,  was  only  a  worker 

in  wood, 
And  he  never  could  see  the  glory  that  Jesus, 

his  brother,  could. 
"Why  stays  he  not  in  the  workshop?"  he  often 

used  to  complain, 
"Sawing  the  Lebanon  cedar,  imparting  to  woods 

their  stain? 
Why  must  he  go  thus  roaming,  forsaking  my 

father's  trade, 
While  hammers  are  busily  sounding,  and  there 

is  gain  to  be  made?" 


1 2  Harry   Kemp 


Thus  ran  the  mind  of  Joses,  apt  with  plummet 

and  rule, 
And  deeming  whoever  surpassed  him  either  a 

knave  or  a  fool, — 
For  he  never  walked  with  the  prophets  in  God's 

great  garden  of  bliss — 
And  of  all  the  mistakes  of  the  ages,  the  saddest, 

methinks,  was  this : 
To  have  such  a  brother  as  Jesus,  to  speak  with 

him  day  by  day, 
But  never  to  catch  the  vision  which  glorified 

his  clay. 


Bathsheba  13 


BATHSHEBA 

17" ING  DAVID,  from  his  house-top 
"*•**          Saw  One  whose  only  dress 
Was  the  exceeding  glory 
Of  her  own  loveliness, 

While  down  the  water  sparkled 
Like  star-dust  powdered  fine, 

And  lightly,  brightly  followed 
Her  body's  shapely  line; 

Then,  thrall  unto  the  splendor 
Of  marble-contoured  limb, 

The  great  King's  trumpet  languished, 
His  voice  forsook  the  hymn  .  .  . 

Now  Uriah's  sworded  hand 
Was  swift  with  the  naked  knife, 

And  David  feared  his  wrath — 
But  he  lusted  after  his  wife.  .  .  . 


14  Harry   Kemp 


But,  though  he  felt  as  a  thief, 
In  his  secret  soul  he  laughed, 

uHa !  Ha !  the  strongest  men 
Are  flies,  in  the  web  of  craft !" 

And  over  the  vineyards  green, 
And  beyond  the  mountains  gray, 

Before  the  Ammonite  town 
The  Hebrew  army  lay: 

So  he  sent  Uriah  forth 

With  his  own  death  writ,  in  his  hand: 
"See  that  the  Bearer  die — 

'Tis  David  thy  King's  command!" 

And  they  gave  him  an  hundred  men 
And  stationed  him  nighest  the  wall — 

And  many  and  brave  were  slain, 
But  Uriah  the  first  of  all.  .  .  . 

When  a  messenger  running  came 
In  his  heart  King  David  laughed: 

"Ha!  Ha!  The  wisest  men 
Are  flies,  in  the  web  of  craft!" 


The  Scapegoat  15 


THE    SCAPEGOAT 

'T^HEY  bore  me  away  from  the  happy  flock 

And  away  from  the  hill  slopes  green, 
Away  from  the  midday  shade  of  trees 
And  waters  cool  and  clean. 

And  here,  where  the  Mounts  of  Moab  close 

The  East  with  a  purple  rim 
And  the  sky  is  a  bowl  of  spilling  fire, 

Mine  eyes  in  death  wax  dim. 

They  led  me  forth  with  austere  joy 

And  the  psalter's  solemn  sound, 
And  about  my  newly-budded  horns 

A  scarlet  fillet  wound; 

And  they  say  that  I  pay  for  a  People's  sins, 

Who  burn  with  thirst  and  die — 
But  whether  the  tale  be  true  or  no, 

God  only  knows,  not  I. 


1 6  Harry   Kemp 


But,  however  it  be,  I  wonder  why 

They  led  me  forth,  accurst, 
Who,  of  all  the  hillside-clamb'ring  flock, 

Was  neither  best  nor  worst; 

And  was  it  really  the  Will  of  God 

That  brought  me  here  to  die 
Where  the  Salt  Sea  stinks,  and  the  salt  marsh 
reeks, 

And  the  dead  reeds  rustle  dry? 

Yes,  why  should  they  lead  me,  me,  of  all, 
To  the  desert  sick  with  drought?  .  .  . 

I  have  dreamed,  three  nights,  'neath  fiery  stars, 
That  green  grass  filled  my  mouth, — 

Where  the  Salt  Sea  stinks,  and  the  salt  marsh 

reeks, 

And  the  dead  reeds  rustle  dry, 
I  have  dreamed,  three  nights,  of  a  stream  that 

sweeps 
In  a  sheet  of  silver  by.  .  .  . 

O,  I  wonder  if  it  be  true  or  no 

That  the  good  Lord  did  decree 
That  the  sins  of  a  People  could  be  cleansed 

By  the  death  of  one  like  me !  ... 


The  Scapegoat  17 


For  why  should  I,  who  have  done  no  wrong, 

For  the  sins  of  others  die 
With  a  scarlet  fillet  about  my  horns  ?-^ 

God  only  knows,  not  1 1 


1 8  Harry   Kemp 


THE    CONFLICT 

T    ISTEN,  listen  to  the  blowing  bugles ! 

^"^     I  am  young  .   .  .  The  voice  of  them  is 
sweet. 

Arm  you  well,  O  Youth,  'tis  you  they're  call 
ing. 
That's  the  cry  that  never  sounds  retreat. 

Once  entangled  in  those  plunging  squadrons, 
Carried  as  the  foam  is  on  the  wave — 

You  can  never  cease  the  breaking  battle 
Till  you  fall  into  an  open  grave. 


Why   Bid   Love   Stay?  19 


WHY    BID    LOVE    STAY? 


TI7"HY  bid  love  stay  beyond  the  day 
Or  dure  beyond  the  morrow? 
There's  naught  can  stay  with  yea  or  nay 
This  joy  that  touches  sorrow. 

But  he  who  gives  love  with  both  hands 

May,  ere  he  part,  discover 
One  who  doth  wend  a  passing  friend 

Turn  everlasting  lover. 


2O  Harry   Kemp 


BLACK    DEATH 

TLTE  gave  her  neither  rest  nor  peace 
•*•          Until  his  lips  drew  her  sweet  breath, — 
But  while  she  drooped  against  his  breast 
A  Third  stood  at  their  side,  Black  Death. 

And  when  the  lover  went  his  way, 

Invisible  and  hollow-eyed 
Into  his  castle  followed  him 

That   Shape,    and    brought  to   naught  his 
pride. 

The  castle  lights  shone  pale  and  dim. 

They  bore  the  lover  on  his  bier — 
The  peasant  maiden  kissed  his  eyes 

And  the  Black  Angel  followed  her. 

The  Lord  sent  down  a  Form  of  Light 
To  ask  Death  why  he  smote  unbid.  .  .  . 

Death  answered  the  eight-winged  messenger, 
His  face  in  his  black  mantle  hid — 


Black  Death  21 


"True  love  bound  prince  and  peasant  maid; 

Yet  Rank  forbade  the  marriage-tie  .  .  . 
But  now  they  can  be  happy  both : 

The  Grave  knows  neither  Low  nor  Highl" 


22  Harry   Kemp 


HASTEN,    CLASP   MAIDEN    LIFE 

TLTASTEN,  clasp  Maiden  Life  round  her 
•*•  white  waist, 

And  drink  in,  loverlike,  her  perfumed  breath, 
For  in  the  night  death  waits  us — we  must  taste 

The  bony  and  the  lipless  kiss  of  Death! 


The  Live   Conscience  23 


THE    LIVE    CONSCIENCE 


'T^HE  dead  man  lay  beneath  the  mold, 

*•        But  still  his  spirit  knew 
The  soft  stir  of  each  blade  of  grass 
As  toward  the  sun  it  grew; 

He  heard  the  far-flung  church  bells  ring, 

He  heard  the  joyous  sound 
Of  children's  voices,  as  they  played 

Above,  on  April  ground;  — 
And  he  felt  the  little,  red-tipped  worm 

Go  nosing  round  and  round. 

He  felt  the  winter  rain  drip  down; 

It  ached  against  his  bones  — 
And  his  was  not  a  plight  where  one 

Might  ease  oneself  with  groans, 

For  he  had  to  lie  forever  dumb 
There  in  the  dreadful  tomb 


24  Harry   Kemp 


Till  all  the  graves  gaped  open  wide 
At  the  crashing  Trump  of  Doom, 

Till  interminable  time  had  flown 

And  the  universe  grew  gray, 
Ere  the  finger  of  Eternity 

Would  touch  his  eyes  with  day. 

He  could  not  move,  he  could  not  weep, 

Nor  might  one  finger  strive 
To  lift  itself;  he  could  not  sleep, 

For  his  conscience  kept  alive; 

His  dreadful  conscience  kept  alive, 

(Oblivion  held  no  term) 
And  it  preyed  upon  his  spirit  worse 

Than  midnight  or  the  worm: 

O,  if  this  be  what  men  call  "death," 

I  do  not  wish  to  die 
Till  the  sun  goes  out  like  an  unfilled  lamp, 

And  God  folds  up  the  sky ! 


The  Pagan  Saint  25 


THE    PAGAN    SAINT 

T^ROM  this  rock-girdled  hight 

These  twenty  barren  years 
Havre  I  beheld  the  sun 
Drop  like  a  golden  bird 
Adown  the  smould'ring  West, 
Have  I  beheld  the  stars 
In  their  blue  paths  o'erhead 
Resume  their  solemn  march 
Thro'  concaves  vast  of  sky — 
Have  watched  the  glowing  East, 
A  hollow  shell  of  fire, 
Suffuse  with  gradual  pearl 
And  burst  to  flower  of  day: — 
And,  dawn  on  radiant  dawn, 
And,  eve  on  roseal  eve, 
The  melody  of  birds 
Has  mounted  up  to  me 
From  coverts  close  of  green; 
And  fragrances  of  flowers, 
And  scents  of  field  and  wood, 
Have  oft  assailed  my  sense 


26  Harry   Kemp 


With  mem'ries  of  that  Time 
When  Pagan  ways  I  walked, 
Before  the  White-souled  Christ 
Redeemed  me  from  the  World. 
And,  pity  me,  O  God! — 
Last  night,  just  ere  the  stars 
Faded  to  ghosts  of  light 
At  the  first  touch  of  Dawn, 
Methought  Apollo  stood 
Bright  with  eternal  youth, 
And  golden,  as  of  yore, 
Midmost  a  cloven  cloud 
Of  oblique-billowing  fleece — 
"Awake !    Awake  I"  he  cried, 
"Lo !  where  Olympus  looms 
Athwart  the  azure  space 
Of  heaven,  as  of  old! 
Still  Jove's  ambrosial  locks 
Shake  thunder  thro'  the  world 
And  my  immortal  hand 
Plucks  music  from  the  lyre ; 
And  hamadryads,  still, 
And  dryads  of  the  wood, 
And  fountain-dwelling  nymphs 
Inhabit  grove  and  flood — 
But  Blindness  and  a  Night 
Have  fallen  upon  men!"  .  .  . 


The  Pagan  Saint  27 

Ah,  pity  me,  Lord  God, 

At  those  crag-echoed  words 

My  penance  seemed  a  shame 

Thrust  on  me  'gainst  my  will, 

And,  for  purpureal  robes, 

And  rose-crowned  bowls  of  wine, 

And  all  of  Youth's  glad  things 

That  I  for  Thee  flung  by, 

My  Soul  yearned,  hungering!   .  .  . 

Ah,  and  it  seemed  that  all 

That  I  had  deemed  a  Rock 

Dropt  from  beneath  my  feet, 

And,  like  a  crumbling  mist 

Of  fading  pearl  and  gold, 

Thy  Heaven  fell  to  naught, 

And  I  was  left  with  Naught  I  .  .  . 

Have  mercy  on  my  Soul, 
For  I  am  weak,  O  God, 
Thou  Triune  God  in  One!  .  .  . 
When  fled  that  evil  dream 
And,  wakening,  I  beheld 
These  twilit  crags  about, 
I,  meager-fleshed  and  wan, 
I  fain  had  ta'en  my  staff 
With  purpose  to  descend 
And  leave  this  desolate  life 


2  8  Harry   Kemp 


(Desolate  but  for  Thee)  — 
To  knock  with  palsied  hand 
At  the  shut  Door  of  Youth, 
And  beg  a  Miracle: 
That  I  might  enter  in 
And  live  Life's  Bloom  again. 
But  now  my  rose  is  dust 
And,  ah,  it  may  not  be !  ... 


Peace,  Peace  29 


PEACE,    PEACE 

DEACE,  peace,  broken  heart,  peace! 
*        All  these  grievous  things  must  cease, 
They  will  drop  off  one  by  one 
Like  ripe  fruit  in  a  quiet  sun. 
Thine  enemies  shall  be  no  more, 
Thy  mockers  will  forget  their  lore, 
The  flowers  from  the  mead  will  die 
And  God's  great  hands  will  break  the  sky. 
Nothing  that's  evil  but  will  cease 
Under  His  whisper  of  Peace,  Peace. 
All  shall  drop  off  one  by  one 
Like  ripe  fruit  in  a  quiet  sun  .  .  . 
Yea,  e'en  thy  cruel  Love  will  lie 
A  dead  thing  beneath  a  dead  sky. 


30  Harry   Kemp 


THE    PAINTED    LADY 

T  AM  sick  of  lust,"  the  Painted  Lady  said, 

"Of  the  perfumed  sheets  of  a  barren  bed, 
Of  the  passion  I  feign  tho'  I  feel  it  not, 
Of  the  outward  bloom  and  the  inward  rot." 
The  Harlot  laughed  a  hungry  laugh — 
"Never  the  joys  of  a  mother  I  quaff, 
For  my  love  is  a  thing  that  is  not  of  love, 
And  bitter  the  wine  as  the  lees  thereof. 
Though  the  touch  of  my  lips  be  heavenly  sweet, 
Hell's  dragons  coil  about  my  feet, 
And  the  seventy  curses  of  hell  I  give, 
For  I've  got  to  live,  I've  got  to  live ! 
I  am  the  cowboy's  passing  bride, 
Am  mistress  of  him  who  masters  the  tide, 
Am  the  dear  delight  of  the  workman's  life 
Whose  wages  can  never  support  a  wife. 
I  slake  men's  ravening  desire 
As  I  burn  thro'  mankind  as  a  fire — 
Yet  I  stand  in  God's  eyes  censure-free 
For  the  selfsame  flame  consumeth  me. 
I  am  the  obverse  face  of  love 


The  Painted  Lady  31 

With  marriage  the  other  side  thereof, 

And  I  and  the  Bride  together  join 

In  the  sexual  mold  of  a  single  coin, 

For  the  full-leaved  bulk  of  the  marriage-tree 

Roots  in  the  dung  and  mulch  of  me.  .  .  . 

And,  maidens  who  boast  the  purest  white, 

'Tis  I  who  save  you  from  Lust's  despite, 

'Tis  I  preserve  you  without  a  flaw 

Till  you  go  and  lie  with  a  man  by  law  .  .  . 

But  I'm  sick  of  LIFE,"  the  Painted  Lady  said, 

"And  I  would  to  God  that  I  were  deadl" 


3  2  Harry   Kemp 


THE    CONTRAST 

ripples  of  blinding  fire  all  Broadway 
wavered  ashine, 
And   taxicabs    streamed   by   like    great   black 

beetles  in  line, 
When  into  my  being  she  stepped, — she,  like  a 

goddess,  aglow 
In  an  exquisite  clinging  gown, — I,  in  my  rags 

and  woe ! 
Was  she  the  mate  of  the  thing  brutish,  bloated 

and  old? — 
I  opened  the  taxi  for  them  and  into  the  night 

they  rolled. 
She  touched  my  heart  like  a  flower  and  made 

the  world  grow  sweet: 
He  tossed  me  a  silver  coin  ...  I  let  it  lie  in 

the  street  . 


Quick    and  Dead  33 


QUICK   AND    DEAD 

FROM  the  trouble  and  strife  of  life  set  free, 
He  lay  in  the   grave.      "Thank  God," 
thought  he. 

Just  then  two  lovers  murmured  o'erhead  .  .  . 
"Would  that  I  were  alive!"  he  said. 


34  Harry   Kemp 


LOVE    IN   OLD   MEXICO 

T  DREAMED  of  ships  sailing  across  the  sun 
•*•      Cargoed  with  allspice  and  with  cinnamon, 
Of  trogons  flaming  forth  from  tropic  groves, 
Of  moist  airs  breathing  sandalwood  and  cloves, 
Of  black-mawed  caverns  gulfing  bristling  seas, 
And  winds  a-whisper  with  strange  melodies, 
Quetzals  of  gold  and  green  and  purple  stain, 
Colossal  cities  strewn  along  the  plain, 
Of  haunted  forests  full  of  twilight  sheen 
Where  print  of  mortal  foot  hath  never  been, 
Where  black  despairs  the  dreamer  ever  woo — 
And  thro'  them  all  there  gleamed  the  face  of 
you. 


She  Came  from  Her  Narrow  Bed       35 


SHE  CAME  FROM  HER  NARROW  BED 


came  from  her  narrow  bed: 
"As  cold  as  stones  are  my  feet, 
And,  Love,  there  is  no  lustihead 
In  a  wormy  winding-sheet." 

'Twas  thus  she  coaxed  his  spirit  forth. 

They  mixed  like  clouds  in  a  storm, 
And  for  the  space  of  a  passing  dream 

He  fostered  her  chill  form. 


36  Harry   Kemp 


THE    SONG   OF   RED    RILEY 

T  HAVE  a  girl  in  the  East, 
A     A  Girl  in  the  West, 
And  between  the  two,  God  wot, 
I  know  not  which  is  best. 

I  have  a  girl  in  the  North, 

And  one  in  the  South — 
But  the  sweetest  lass  of  all, 

She  bit  blood  from  my  mouth. 


Prithee,  Strive  Not 


37 


PRITHEE,    STRIVE    NOT 

T)RITHEE,  strive  not  to  remember 
*         Ancient  love  burnt  out  and  dead; 
Blow  not  on  the  blackened  ember, — 
Ash  will  ne'er  again  give  red. 

Lift  the  latch — another  lover 
Waits  upon  thy  kiss  without: 

All  the  old  things  have  gone  over 
That  the  heart  went  mad  about. 


38  Harry   Kemp 


MY    LADY'S    BATH 

THE  sky  hung  dark  and  shaded 
And  the  winds  were  ill  at  rest, 
And  the  slow  black  clouds  paraded 
Heavily  from  east  to  west — 

When  my  Lady's  whim  did  strip  her 
Pure  and  soft  as  she  was  born, 

Off  she  drew  each  small  gold  slipper 
By  a  bare  bush  harsh  with  thorn. 

Then  the  sun  his  eyes  unclouded 
With  the  right  arm  of  a  gale 

And  a  rainbow  arched  and  prouded 
Like  a  peacock's  spreading  tail. 

(See!     The  questing  wind  reposes, 
Boughs  to  green-leaved  bourgeon  stir, 

And  the  thorn-bush  blushes  roses 
At  the  pearl-white  glimpse  of  her.) 


Fickleness  39 


1 
FICKLENESS 

T  LOVED  ...  I      lost  .  .  .  "The      very 
1      world,'1 

Thought  I,  "must  cease  to  be; 
June,  find  no  pleasure  in  her  rose, 

Since  She  no  more  loves  me!" 

But  when  I  saw  the  world  still  glad 

With  sun  and  flower  and  rain, 
That  June  had  not  forgot  her  rose — •. 

I  straightway  loved  again. 


40  Harry   Kemp 


MY    GYPSY    MAID 

T  KNOW  a  gypsy  maiden  and  she  travels  in 

a  van: 
I  think  she  loves  me  better  than  the  shiftless 

gypsy  man. 
She   reads   cards   with  the  best  of  them,   she 

pierces  with  her  eyes. 
Her  voice  is  low  and  very  sweet  and  quick  with 

love-replies. 
She  has  a  touch  of  starlight  and  she  knows  the 

sun  and  moon. 
Her  breasts  are  full  and  ample  as  red  roses 

late  in  June. 
And  I've  told  her  that  I  love  her  .  .  .  And  I 

guess  she  understands 
(Her   red   lips   drooped   a-quiver,    there   was 

trembling  in  her  hands, 

This  little  Gypsy  maiden  that  travels  in  a  van) 
That  I'll  make  a  better  husband  than  a  loafing 

Gypsy  Man. 


The   Deceit  41 


THE    DECEIT 

the  way  to  Istral  where  the  sea  sweeps 
in 

I  met  and  kissed  a  maiden  irresistible  as  sin; 
Her  breasts  were  tipped  like  coral  and  her  un 
bound  hair 

Hung  thick  across  her  bosom,  and  her  face  was 
fair. 

I  lay  with  her  a  night-space  in  the  white  moon 
shine 

And  wakened  in  the  morning  like  a  drunkard 
after  wine  .  .  . 

I  wakened  in  the  morning  with  a  lover's  greed 

For  renewal  of  embracement  .  .  .  and  em 
braced  a  weed 

And  a  length  of  blackened  driftwood.  .  .  . 
Then  I  rose  afraid, 

For  a  witch,  God  wot,  had  snared  me  in  the 
semblance  of  a  maid! 


42  Harry   Kemp 


KANSAS 

GIVE  me  the  land  where  miles  of  wheat 
Ripple  beneath  the  wind's  light  feet, 
Where  the  green  armies  of  the  corn 
Sway  in  the  first  sweet  breath  of  morn; 
Give  me  the  large  and  liberal  land 
Of  the  open  heart  and  the  generous  hand. 
Under  the  widespread  Kansas  sky 
Let  me  live  and  let  me  die. 


The  Little  Brook  Over  the  Hill       43 


THE  LITTLE  BROOK  OVER  THE  HILL 

/~pHE  little  brook  over  the  hill  that  my  child- 
*  hood  knew 

Where  fragrant  mint  and  slender  willows 
grew — 

Like  vanishing  flashes  of  light  the  minnows 
swam 

In  its  rippled  shallows.  I  mind  me  the  drip 
ping  dam 


Builded  of  logs  and  stones  and  sod  breast-high, 
Where  the  brimming  waters  stole  a  patch  of  the 

sky 
And  we  splashed  'mid  clouds  and  parted  watery 

trees, 
And  shouted  and  leaped,  and  raced  at  naked 

ease. 

I  believe  in  dryads  and  nymphs  and  satyrs  still 
Because  of  the  little  brook  at  the  foot  of  the 

hill. 


44  Harry   Kemp 


How  it  flashed  a  thousand  bickering  gleams  in 
one 

When  it  caught  the  full  effulgence  of  the  sun. 

How  it  teemed  with  life :  for  a  thousand  tribes 
dwelt  there, 

Curious,  delicate,  purple,  and  argent-fair — 

The  dragon  fly  that  poised  on  a  rippling  blade 

Of  grass,  unnumbered  creatures  of  sun  and 
shade, 

Wee  lives  that  throve  under  stones  and  scur 
ried  away 

When  a  wanton  hand  let  in  a  storm  of  the 
day — 

Claw,  and  fin,  and  scale,  and  shell,  and  gill, 

There  was  life  a-swarm  in  the  little  brook  over 
the  hill. 


The  little   brook   over  the   hill — I   wandered 

away, 
And  then,  grown  taller  of  life,  came  back  one 

day, 
And  I  found  they  had  taken  my  little  brook 

over  the  hill 

To  turn  the  roaring  wheels  of  a  smoky  mill; 
Blue-bursting    bubbles,    circle-wise    swimming, 

had  slain 


The  Little  Brook  Over  the  Hill        45 

The  teeming  lives  of  which  my  heart  had  been 

fain — 

Only  belligerent  crayfish  here  and  there 
Fought  on  for  being;  and  willows  draggled  and 

bare 
Strove  for  the  sun;  the  trees  were  shrunken 

and  wried 

And  all  the  beautiful  little  lives  had  died.   .  .  . 
And  I  cursed  the  greedy  world  and  the  ruthless 

mill 
That  had  swept  with  death  the  little  brook  over 

the  hill. 


46  Harry   Kemp 


THE    STAMPEDE 

/T"AHE  lightning  tossed  its  tangled  boughs 

And  great  winds  ran  about: 
At  midnight  all  the  cattle  rose 
And  took  to  sudden  rout. 


And,  whirled  in  seething  floods  of  rain, 

We  followed  in  their  wake, 
While  ebbed  and  surged  the  driving  storm 

Like  waves  which  lift  and  break. 

Mad  was  the  night  and  mad  the  flight; 

We  prayed  beneath  our  breath — 
For,  'mid  that  sea  of  tossing  horns, 

Beneath  those  hoofs,  lay  death. 

Then  in  the  same  mysterious  way 
They  paused  as  they  began  .   .   . 

And  down  our  backs  the  trickling  drops 
In  ceaseless  rivulets  ran, 


The  Stampede  47 

As  round  and  round  the  herd  we  rode 

For  hour  on  hour  of  rain, 
Singing  them  songs  of  lusty  cheer 

Lest  they  should  rise  again. 


48  Harry   Kemp 


AH,    SWEET   THE    BIRDS 

A  H,  sweet  the  birds  are  singing,   and  mead 

•*•  *      and  shaw  are  green; 

The  sky  shines  like  a  mirror,  by  winds  and  rain 
washed  clean; 

The  flocks  are  out  to  pasture,  the  world  wends 
two  by  two ; 

The  sheety  mill-pond  captures  high  noon's  re 
motest  blue, 

And  even  in  the  city  I  wot  that  sparrows  sing, 

And  sickly  shoots  of  leafage  take  color  of  th. 
spring — 

And  universal  gladness  in  every  heart  doth  call 

And  laughs,  and  knows  no  reason.  .  .  .  God, 
how  I  hate  it  all  1 


Winter  49 


WINTER 

The  Jersey  Coast 

ALONG  the  river's  level  sheet  of  ice 
Gray    sea-gulls    gather,    lift,    and   light 
again; 

Shining  and  hard  with  solid  glaze  of  sleet 
Lie  marsh  and  meadow;  here  and  there  a  bird, 
Deceived  by  three  days'  sunshine,  pecks  in  vain 
For  sustenance,  or  droops  on  icy  bough. 
And  blank  with  boarded  window,  by  the  shore, 
Mid  dreary  waste  of  rime-encrusted  dune 
Loom  hostelries  whose  summer  guests  have 
flown. 


50  Harry   Kemp 


IN  A   STORM 
[On  the  Bark  "Pestallozi"] 

T  TPON  this  great  ship's  tilted  deck 
^       I  stand,  an  undiscerned  speck, 
And,  where  the  vast,  wave-whitened  sea 
Leaps  at  the  moon  enormously 
In  green-ridged  tides,  the  ship's  expanse 
Dwindles  to  insignificance. 
Thro'  ether,  perilously  hurled, 
Thunders  the  huge  bulk  of  the  world, 
Which,  in  the  eyes  of  other  spheres, 
Itself  a  sunlit  mote  appears. 
In  turn,  all  suns  and  stars  in  sight 
Lessen  to  needle-pricks  of  light, 
Flung  helpless  thro'  an  awful  void 
Where  measures  fail,  and  Time's  destroyed  . 
And  still  dost  see  when  sparrows  die? 
O  God,  where  art  Thou?  .  .  .  Here  am  I! 


Insouciance   in   Storm  51 


INSOUCIANCE    IN    STORM 

[On  the  Ore-Boat  "Howe"] 

DEEP  in  an  ore-boat's  hold 
Where  great-bulked  boilers  loom 
And  yawning  mouths  of  fire 
Irradiate  the  gloom, 

I  saw  half-naked  men 

Made  thralls  to  flame  and  steam, 
Whose  bodies,  dripping  sweat, 

Shone  with  an  oily  gleam. 

There,  all  the  sullen  night, 

While  waves  boomed  overhead 

And  smote  the  lurching  ship, 
The  ravenous  fires  they  fed; 

They  did  not  think  it  brave : 
They  even  dared  to  joke!  .  .  . 

I  saw  them  light  their  pipes 

And  puff  calm  rings  of  smoke!  .  .  , 


52  Harry   Kemp 


I  saw  a  Passer  sprawl 
Over  his  load  of  coal — 

At  which  a  Fireman  laughed 
Until  it  shook  his  soul : 

All  this  in  a  hollow  shell 

Whose  half -submerged  form 

On  Lake  Superior  tossed 

'Mid  rushing  hills  of  storm! 


Evening  on  Lake  Superior  53 


EVENING    ON    LAKE    SUPERIOR 

LIKE  to  a  molten  globe  which  workers  turn, 
Of  crimson-heated  steel,  the  sinking  sun 
Dropped  to  the  far  blue  level  of  the  lake 
And  laid  a  burning  causeway  o'er  the  waves. 
Then  in  the  russet  twilight  sable  clouds 
Sat  here  and  there,  sprinkled  with  little  stars — 
Thus  darkness  came,  and,  a  red  light  to  port, 
A  green  to  starboard,  at  the  cable's  end 
Our  shadowy  tow-boat  followed  in  our  wake. 


54  Harry   Kemp 


WEIN,   WEIB ! 

[The  Complaint  of  the  Old  Lakeman] 

*  I  AOO  old  em  I  to  sail  eny  more 
•*•        (He  glanced  at  his  wasted  thews) 
But  I  might  uv  been  on  the  Lakes  to-day 
Were  the  whistles  talks  an'  the  fog  hangs  gray 
If  it  hadunt  'a  been  fer  booze. 

If  it  hadunt  a'  been  fer  booze  an'  whores 

(By  rights  this  is  my  Prime) 
O,  the  road  is  broad — but  it  don't  go  far, 
Fer,  no  matter  how  good  a  man  you  are, 

They'll  git  you  every  time! 


A  Sailor  Chantey  55 


A   SAILOR    CHANTEY 

[On  Bark  "Pestallozi,"  of  Tristan  D'Acunha 
Islands'] 

OIX  hearty  husky  lads  were  we, 

^      Able  to  cope  with  storm  and  sea. 

O,  the  deck  reeled  drunken  beneath  our  feet, 

And  the  sky  and  ocean  seemed  to  meet. 

Hear,  landsmen  meek,  who  thrive  and  wive, 

We  climbed  up,  six, — and  we  came  down,  five! 

For  the  grim  wind  thro'  the  ratlines  roared 

And  hurled  our  comrade  overboard. 

He  fell  headlong  to  the  maniac  sea, 

Tumbling  and  grappling  vacantly. 

The  black  horizon  seemed  to  grin, 

And  a  high  wave  rose  to  welcome  him  in. 

The  next  day,  when  the  storm  was  o'er, 

The  sea  was  as  smooth  as  a  dance-hall  floor 


For  days  our  comrade  floated  about, 
And  the  sea-gulls  pecked  his  blue  eyes  out; 


56  Harry   Kemp 


For  days  he  floated  with  eyeless  stare, 

And   the   small   fish   nibbled  his   white  bones 

bare, — 

Then  he  bubbled  down  thro'  the  surgeless  deep 
To  sleep  where  the  cuttlefish  sprawl  and  creep. 

We  vowed  when  we  reached  the  land,  why  then, 
We'd  never  go  to  sea  again — 
But  we  blew  in  all  our  cash  ashore, 
And  here  we  are  to  sea  once  more! 


Bob  57 


BOB 

"DOB  had  a  nigger  woman 
•^      That  kicked  and  bit  like  a  horse 
More  jungle-wild  than  human  .   .  . 
She  knifed  him  in  due  course  .  .  . 

Bob  had  a  nigger  woman: 

She  knifed  him  till  he  died  .  .  . 

For  six  whole  days  she  wouldn't  eat  . 
For  seven  more  she  cried!   .  .  . 


5  8  Harry    Kemp 


THE    BOXCAR 

T  SING  the  boxcar  rumbling  and  rolling  afar, 

•*-  Rocking  o'er  prairies,  clacking  thro'  popu 
lous  towns, 

Laboring  up  long  grades,  griding  down  valleys, 

Marked  for  repairs,  groaning  with  merchan 
dise, 

Side-tracked,  bumped  about,  loaded,  reloaded 
again, 

Dusty  and  serviceable,  the  greatest  traveler  of 
all, 

Habitat  of  hoboes,  chalked  with  their  marks 
and  scrawls — 

I  sing  the  side-door  Pullman,  the  changing  vis 
tas, 

The  shifting  panoramas  of  countryside, 

The  waving  fields,  the  farms,  the  villages. 

Away  with  your  cushioned  seats,  your  palace 
cars 

And  the  highfalutin  names  they  wear  on  their 
sides ! 


The  Boxcar  59 


Give  me  the  boxcar,  having  no  name  at  all, 
Only  a  number — and  give  me  a  true-blue  pal 
To  dare  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  Road  with 


me. 


60  Harry   Kemp 


A   TRAMP'S    CONFESSION 

huddled  in  the  mission 
Per  it  was  cold  outside, 
An'  listened  to  the  preacher 
Tell  of  the  Crucified; 

Without,  a  sleety  drizzle 

Cut  deep  each  ragged  form, — 
An'  so  we  stood  the  talkin' 

Fer  shelter  from  the  storm. 

They  sang  of  God  an'  angels, 
An'  heaven's  eternal  joy, 

An'  things  I  stopped  believin' 
When  I  was  still  a  boy; 

They  spoke  of  good  an'  evil, 
An'  offered  savin'  grace — 

An'  some  showed  love  fer  mankin' 
A-shinin'  in  their  face, 


A    Tramp's    Confession  6 1 

An'  some  their  graft  was  workin' 

The  same  as  me  an'  you: 
But  most  was  urgin'  on  us 

Wot  they  believed  was  true. 

We  sang  an'  dozed  an'  listened, 

But  only  feared,  us  men, 
The  time  when,  service  over, 

We'd  have  to  mooch  again 

An'  walk  the  icy  pavements 
An'  breast  the  snowstorm  gray 

Till  the  saloons  was  opened 
An'  there  was  hints  of  day. 

So,  when  they  called  out  "Sinners, 
Won't  you  come!"  I  came  .  .  . 

But  in  my  face  was  pallor 

An'  in  my  heart  was  shame  .  .  . 

An'  so  fergive  me,  Jesus, 
Fer  mockin'  of  thy  name — • 

Fer  I  was  cold  an'  hungry! 

They  gave  me  grub  an'  bed 
After  I  kneeled  there  with  them 

An'  many  prayers  was  said. 


Harry   Kemp 


An'  so  fergive  me,  Jesus, 
I  didn't  mean  no  harm — 

An'  outside  it  was  zero, 

An'  inside  it  was  warm  .  . 

Yes,  I  was  cold  an1  hungry,-— 
An',  O  Thou  Crucified, 

Thou  friend  of  all  the  Lowly, 
Fergive  the  lie  I  lied  I 


Bread  Lines  63 


BREAD    LINES 

God!     What  keeps  men  up  so  late 
upon  this  dripping  night 
When  every  rain-wet  paving  stone  shines  with 

its  blur  of  light 
Caught  from  the  white  electric  arc?    The  wind 

is  blowing  chill, 
No  human  foot  would  wend  abroad  save  at 

some  master's  will  .  .   . 
And  these  men  have  a  master  terribler  than 

mortal  lord, 
Whose  pity  might  be  wakened  and  whose  mercy 

be  implored; 
The  lord  of  them  is  Hunger  fell  who  whips 

them  as  they  go, — 
With  dreadful   scourge   of  famine   he  insults 

them,  blow  on  blow. 
They  turn  and  twist  in  silent  line  and  shuffle 

hopeless  feet 

In  solemn  drear  procession  down  the  shadow- 
haunted  street 


64  Harry   Kemp 


They  tramp  along  while  other  folk  are  safe 

and  warm  in  bed; 
They  move  in  line  for  half  a  night  to  gain 

their  dole  of  bread, 
And  hunger  makes  them  patient  of  the  cold, 

the  sleet,  the  rain, — 
But  every  weary  step  they  take  finds  echo  in 

the  brain, 
And  the  heart  becomes' the  pavement,   and  it 

spirts  with  jets  of  pain. 

Ye  masters,  why  must  this  thing  be?     Is  this 

the  exacted  price 
(This  sordidness  and  misery  and  poverty  and 

vice) 
For  every  upward  step  Man  takes  along  the 

sunlit  way? 
Why  must  these  edges  of  the  night  still  fringe 

the  rear  of  day? 
The  masters  answer  nothing:  they  will  neither 

hear  nor  see; 
They  play,  with  men  as  checkers,  at  their  game 

of  usury; 
They  reap  where  they  have  never  toiled,  they 

sell  the  unsown  grain, 
They  make  the  worker  moil  for  them  nor  heed 

his  cry  of  pain. 


Bread  Lines  65 


Their  tasks   are  busy  idleness   which  sow  no 

good  for  men, 
They  spread  their  nets  and  catch  their  fish  and 

spread  their  nets  again — 
But  shadowy  bread  lines  throng  my  heart  and 

whisper,  stern  and  low, 
"Some  day  they'll  have  to  answer  us,  whether 

they  will  or  no  I" 


66  Harry   Kemp 


A   BED 

T'M  glad  I  have  a  good  warm  bed  to  snuggle 

-*-      in  to-night 

For  the  winds  are  in  the  alleys  and  the  stars  are 

cold  and  bright. 
I'm  glad  I  do  not  have  to  tramp  along  the 

paven  street, 
A-tremble  with  the  bitter  blasts  which  numb 

and  freeze  the  feet. 
But  I'm  sorry  for  the  others  that  must  wander 

to  and  fro 
And  suffer  as  I  had  to  do  not  many  months 

ago; 
I  think  of  them,  the  thousands,  in  the  bitter, 

bitter  dark 
Who  move  alone  along  the  street  with  none 

but  God  to  mark, 
For  tho'  inured  to  many  shames  my  heart  can 

ne'er  endure 
The  misery  and  hardship  of  the  ever-patient 

Poor. 


A  Bed  67 

I've  dozed  by  dying  camp-fires  and  waked  shud 
dering  in  the  night, 
Have  seen  the  shining  Zodiac  depart,  ere  dawn, 

from  sight, 
Full  oft  I've  slept  in  city  jails  where  Vice  was 

gathered  in 
And  each  man  hugged  the  nightmare  of  his  own 

peculiar  sin; 
And  I've  slept  in  side-tracked  boxcars  while  the 

heartless  winter  lay 
By  my  side,  a  cold  companion,  till  a  storm  begot 

the  day.  .  .  . 
So  I'm  glad  I  have  a  good  warm  bed  to  snuggle 

in  to-night, 
For  the  winds  are  in  the  alleys  and  the  stars  are 

cold  and  bright. 


68  Harry   Kemp 


THE    OPEN   WORLD 

T  AM  swept  with  the  storm  of  life, 
"••       I  shake  and  sway  like  a  tree — 
For  all  the  winds  of  all  the  world 
Sweep  over  me. 

I  toss  my  boughs  to  the  clouds 
That  drive  high  over  my  head. 

Right  glad  am  I  for  the  open  sky 
Where  tempests  are  bred. 


Revolt  69 


REVOLT 

A  CCEPT,    and  the  world  moves  with  you, 
*^      Revolt,  and  you  walk  alone, 
But  sweet  it  is  both  night  and  day 
To  know  that  your  soul's  your  own — 

That  the  open  sky  is  above  you, 
That  your  ways  are  free  and  bold, 

That  you're  not  one  of  the  timid  sheep 
That  cower  in  the  fold. 


ro  Harry   Kemp 


THE  HARVEST  FLY'S  COMPLAINT 


TTTHEN  the  sun  stares  hot,  unsparing,  like 

a  lidless  golden  eye, 
I  labor,  dusty,  sweating,  —  whom  they  call  the 

harvest  fly. 
The  header-box  runs  up    and  down  and  fills 

with  slippery  wheat. 
I  leap  about  and  ply  the  fork,  all  arms  and 

hands,  and  feet. 
I'm  up  before  the  dawn,  nor  rest  before  the 

moon  rides  high  — 
And  they  couldn't  do  without  me,  tho'  they  call 

me  harvest  fly. 


The  farmers  and  the  papers  send  out  lying 
calls  for  me : 

Where  they  say  they  need  a  hundred  they  have 
work  for  two  or  three. 

Then  I  flit  in,  brown  and  mothlike,  and  for 
gather  with  my  kind 


The  Harvest  Fly's  Complaint  71 

In  some  little  town  far  Westward  open  to  each 

prairie  wind: 
And  the  farmers  come  to  hire  me;  but  by  that 

time  park  and  street 
Teem  with  hundreds  who  have  listened  to  the 

siren  call  of  Wheat, — 
So  they  beat  me  down  in  wages,  give  as  little 

as  they  can, 
And  if  I  get  indignant  they  go  hire  another 

man. 

But  the  harvest  doesn't  last  for  long — the  stub 
ble  bristles  brown, 

The  wheat's  all  cut  and  stacked,  and  then  I 
hike  on  back  to  town, 

And  try  to  catch  a  freight  and  leave,  but  find 
they've  closed  down  tight 

On  letting  hoboes  beat  their  way,  and  jug  them 
left  and  right. 

They  were  glad  enough  to  get  me  here,  but, 
now  the  work  is  done, 

The  Law  must  steal  what  I  have  earned  be 
neath  the  broiling  sun, 

The  Court  must  have  its  share  in  fines  (I  tell 
a  common  tale), 

And  they  haul  me  off  for  vagrancy  and  clap 
me  into  jail. 


72  Harry   Kemp 


And,  Pard,  I'm  getting  sick  of  it — the  way  they 

treat  us  men, 
And,  sometimes,  I  make  up  my  mind  I  won't 

go  back  again — 
But  then  I  get  a  vision  of  those  rolling  miles 

of  grain, 
Of  the  lines  of  marching  trees  that  make  a 

wind-break  on  the  plain, 
And  I'm  off  before  I  know  it,  peering  from  a 

boxcar  door: 
Though  I  know  that  I  am  in  for  being  done  as 

heretofore! 


White   Sheets  73 


WHITE    SHEETS 

that  white  sheets  have  held  me 
For  many  a  wakeful  night 
Convention's  bonds  have  spelled  me, 
And  slain  is  my  delight.  .  .  . 

But  several  nights  by  camp-fire 

And  several  dawns  by  dew 
Will  make  another  creature, 

My  shrivelled  soul,  of  you. 


74  Harry   Kemp 


CASHING   IN 

T  CAUGHT  a  glimpse  of  his  frightened  face 
as  he  fell  between  the  cars, 

And  I  made  a  jump  for  the  cinder  path  and  I 
saw  all  kinds  of  stars. 

I  rolled  like  a  log  in  a  cataract,  then,  stagger 
ing  to  my  feet, 

I  sat  me  down  on  a  railroad  tie  and  my  nerve 
was  gone  complete. 

The  two  red  lights  of  the  little  caboose  shrank 

into  the  gulfing  night, 
And  I  thanked  the  Dark  for  covering  up  the 

Terror  from  my  sight. 
Dim  woodlands  haunted  the  high-banked  track 

like  black  clouds  dropped  from  the  sky, 
And  over  my  head  a  screech  owl  wheeled  with 

a  wild  and  dismal  cry. 
'Twas  a  five-mile  drill  to  the  nearest  town,  and 

I  hit  a  nervous  gait, 
And  said  to  the  operator  there,  "A  bum  fell 

under  a  freight.'* 


Cashing   In  75 


O,   my  chum   cashed   in   like   a    feeble   match 

quenched  by  a  gust  of  wind, 
Or  as  a  flickering  fire  goes  out  which  hoboes 

leave  behind. 
No  more  he'll  stretch  across  the  rods  or  ride 

the  cramped  brake-beam, 
A  thrall  to  the  lure  of  the  unseen  land  and  the 

fascination  of  steam, — 
For  they've  laid  him  away  in  a  rough  pine  box 

on  the  slope  of  a  barren  hill — 
But  out  across  the  universe  his  spirit  wanders 

still: 
He  has  mooched  it  on  from  star  to  star,  and 

from  sun  to  flaming  sun, 
He  has  taken  the  planets  like  strings  of  beads 

and  slipped  them,  one  by  one, 
Along  the  cord  of  memory,  for  he  who  knew 

the  earth 
Must  learn  the  universe  as  well  on  the  eve  of 

his  second  birth  .  .  . 
And  when  he  kneels  before  the  Throne,   his 

hunger  for  seeing  filled, 
And  the  grand  antiphonies  of  the  sky  to  hear 

his  doom  are  stilled — 
Prone  there  between  the  avenues  of  the  flaming 

cherubim — 
I  know  that  the  One  who  pardoned  the  Thief 

will  be  merciful  to  him ! 


76  Harry   Kemp 


THE    CATTLEMAN'S    BURIAL 

[S.  S.  Maori  King,  South  Seas] 

\T7*E  bore  our  comrade  from  his  bunk,  we 

kept  him  overnight, 
In  a  fold  of  heavy  canvas  we  sewed  him  good 

and  tight — 
With  stitch  on  stitch  we  sewed  him  in  and  hid 

him  from  the  sight  .  .  . 
We  laid  him  on  a  tilted  plank,   and  solemn- 

souled  were  we.  .  .  . 
Behind  us  whirled  the  troubled  wake,  around 

us  spread  the  sea — 
And  then  each  man  removed  his  hat  and  stood 

with  down-sunk  head 
As  the  dapper  little  captain  read  the  service  for 

the  dead. 

Said  the  Boss  of  all  the  cattlemen,  "I'm  glad 

it  isn't  me 
Wot  'as  to  lie  so  lonesome  at  the  bottom  o* 

the  sea." 


The  Cattleman's  Burial  77 

And  /  looked  out  across  the  waves  which  ran 

in  crests  of  foam, 
And  longed  for  fields,  and  running  brooks,  and 

all  my  friends,  and  home. 


78  Harry   Kemp 


AWAY   FROM   TOWN 

1LTIGH-PERCHED  upon  a  boxcar,  I  speed, 

•**          I  speed,  to-day: 

I  leave  the  gaunt  gray  city  some  good  green 

miles  away, 
A  terrible  dream  in  granite,  a  riot  of  streets 

and  brick, 
A  frantic  nightmare  of  people  until  the  soul 

grows  sick — 
Such  is  the  high  gray  city  with  the  live  green 

waters  round 
Oozing  up  from  the  ocean,  slipping  in  from 

the  Sound. 
I'd  put  up  down  in  the  Bowery  for  nights  in  a 

ten-cent  bed 
Where  the  dinky  UL"  trains  thunder  and  rattle 

overhead; 
I'd  traipsed  the  barren  pavements  with  the  pain 

of  frost  in  my  feet; 

I'd  sidled  to  hotel  kitchens  and  asked  for  some 
thing  to  eat. 


Away   From    Town  79 

But  when  the  snow  went  dripping  and  the  young 

spring  came  as  one 

Who  weeps  because  of  the  winter,  laughs  be 
cause  of  the  sun, 
I   thought  of  a  limpid  brooklet  that  bickers 

thro'  reeds  all  day, 
And  made  a  streak  for  the  ferry,  and  rode 

across  in  a  dray, 
And,  dodging  into  the  Erie  where  they  bunt 

the  boxcars  round, 
I  peeled  my  eye  for  detectives,  and  boarded  an 

outward  bound. 
For  you  know  when  a  man's  been  cabined  in 

walls  for  part  of  the  year, 
He  longs  for  a  place  to  stretch  in,  he  hankers 

for  country  cheer. 


80  Harry   Kemp 


THE    CATTLE    TRAIN 

/HpHEY  drive  the  helpless  cattle  in 

-*-        With  oaths  and  cries  and  blows  .  .  . 
The  train  draws  eastward  while  the  dusk 
Is  all  a  dying  rose. 

Behind,  our  little  waycar  rides, 

Twin-lighted,  while  ahead 
The  engine  fires  the  gulfing  gloom 

With  burst  on  burst  of  red. 

Strange  is  the  cargo  that  we  bear: 
We've  gleaned  from  pen  and  byre 

Leg-sprawling  calfs  and  huddled  sheep 
And  swine  that  reek  of  mire, 

Wild,  frightened  steers  from  Western  plains, 

That  bellow,  push,  and  lower — 
A  Stockyard  leaping  through  the  night 

At  forty  miles  an  hour. 


God,    the   Architect  81 


GOD,    THE   ARCHITECT 


TITHO  thou  art  I  know  not, 
'       But  this  much  I  know  : 

Thou  hast  set  the  Pleiades 
In  a  silver  row; 

Thou  hast  sent  the  trackless  winds 

Loose  upon  their  way; 
Thou  hast  reared  a  colored  wall 

'Twixt  the  night  and  day  ; 

Thou  hast  made  the  flowers  to  blow, 

And  the  stars  to  shine, 
Hid  rare  gems  and  richest  ore 

In  the  tunneled  mine  — 

But,  chief  of  all  thy  wondrous  work's, 

Supreme  of  all  thy  plan, 
Thou  hast  put  an  upward  reach 

In  the  heart  of  Man! 


82  Harry   Kemp 


I   SAW  A   NAKED    SOUL 

T  SAW  a  naked  soul 
A      Crying  in  the  dark. 
Its  little  outstretched  hands 
Reached  dumbly  at  my  heart. 
"Who  artthou?"  I  asked. 
"Knowest  thou  not?"  it  said, 
"Thy  little  unborn  son  1" 
And  then  I  woke,  alone, 
And  hungered  after  her, 
Its  mother  yet  to  be 
Whom  I  had  never  seen. 


The   Poltergeist  83 


THE    POLTERGEIST 

A    WEAK,  diaphanous  spirit  wavered  in 
^  *•      Like   blue   columnar  incense   mounting 

thin — 

"There  is  no  comfort  in  our  Way,"  it  cried, 
"We  are  as  naught;  would  God  I  had  not  died! 
For  now,  a  bodiless  thing,  I  wander  lone, 
Divorced  from  vigorous  thew  and  bracing  bone. 
O,  that  firm  flesh  once  more  this  mist  might 

seal, 

O,  that  I  might  the  warm  blood  coursing  feel — 
That  I  might  call  some  body  T  again, 
And,  locked  within  five  senses,  walk  with  men, 
Potent  to  love,  to  hate,  resent,  forgive, 
To  live  the  brief,  sweet  life  I  once  did  live, 
Not  forced  to  borrow,  in  a  ghost's  despair, 
The  Medium's  strength  with  which  to  tip  a 

chair, 
Talk  through  a  horn,  or  lift  a  table  high !" 

"Ah,  Spirit,  how  I  tremble !    Say,  must  I 
After  this  life  know  like  futility?" 


84  Harry   Kemp 


HYMN  OF  THE  STAR-FOLK  TO  GOD 

'"T^HERE  is  no  need  for  thy  mercy,  for  mercy 

is  ours,  not  thine; 
Thou  art  as  impartial  as  suns  that  burn  or  as 

stars  that  shine, 
In  all  infinity  dwelling,  with  star-seas  a-wash 

at  thy  feet 
While  the  tides  of  the  systems  in  storm  round 

the  bounds  of  eternity  beat. 
As  deep  as  from  zenith  to  nadir  are  thy  ways 

and  the  glory  thereof — 
Though  we  call  thee  Father  and  Love,  thou 

art  greater  than  fathers  and  love. 
All  the  gods  we  have  fashioned  to  limn  thee, 

all  the  fine-threaded  logic  weVe  spun 
Do  no  more  measure  thy  glory  than  darkness 

measures  the  sun — 
While  we  lurk  and  lie  in  the  night-time  lapped 

round  in  the  silence  of  sleep, 
A  hint  of  thy  power  is  given  by  Deep  beyond 

star-sprinkled  Deep, 
And  a  mote  of  thy  infinite  glory  our  pitiful 

selfhood  stuns 


Hymn  of  the  Star-Folk  to  God         85 

When  we  find  that  the  suns  in  our  eyesight  are 

a  grain  of  sand  to  thy  suns, 
Thy  millions  and  billions  and  trillions  of  sys 
tems  where  mayhap  abide 
More  God-seeking  beings,  by  whom,  as  by  us, 

thou  art  deified. 
When  our  last  day  sickens  in  dusking  crimson 

and  crumbling  gold 
Our  night  will  be  as  thy  morning  (Thou  ART, 

nor  canst  thou  wax  old) 
So  sunset  is  ever  as  sunrise  to  nations  which 

gaze  from  afar — 
So  sunrise  and  sunset  are  single  if  eyes  could 

look  down  from  a  star. 
Thou  hast  lived  through  a  million  judgments, 

seen  a  million  systems  die, 
And  still,  like  to  young  roses  blushing,  thy  new 

suns  redden  the  sky, 
Thy  new  suns  redden  the  sky  while  thine  Old 

go  ruinous  way — 
Yea,  somewhere,  ever,  in  heaven,  some  world 

has  its  judgment  day, 
And,  somewhere,  ever,  in  heaven,  some  new 

world  blooms  in  thy  sight — 
And  there  is  no  end  to  creation,  as  there  is  no 

end  to  thy  might. 


86  Harry  Kemp 


O  God  beyond  effort  of  language,  O  God  be 
yond  reach  of  the  tongue! 
O  God  who  canst  only  be   felt  in  the  soul's 

sanctuary,  not  sung! 
We  know  thou  art  better  than  best  and  wiser 

than  wisest,  we  trust 
Thee,  and  worship  unto  thee,  who  art  as  in 

wind  is  the  dust! 
We    earth-peoples,    star-peoples,    dwelling    in 

populous  spaces  of  sky — 
We,  strangely  living  and  loving,  seek  thee  in 

spirit — and  die! — 
Yet  we  know  that  not  for  naught,  since  thou 

art  thou,  are  we  here ! 
With  thy  more-than-love  above  us,  about  us, 

we  never  need  fear! 


The   Stillborn   in   Heaven  87 


THE   STILLBORN    IN    HEAVEN 

TN   the  beautiful  garden  of  paradise,  where 

•*•      the  souls  of  the  blessed  go, 

I  saw  in  dream  a  multitude  which  wended  to 

and  fro, 
And  their  mouths   were   filled  with   heavenly 

speech  beyond  all  mortal  phrase 
As  they  walked  where  the  crystal  fount  of  life 

in  gleaming  column  plays: 
But  One  I  saw  who  fared  alone  and  bore  a 

flame  for  his  heart, 
Like  a  stranger  in  a  foreign  land  who  lives  and 

moves  apart; 
And  yet  the  face  of  the  radiant  Soul  was  bright 

as  a  noonday  sun, — 
And  I  drew  a-nigh  to  question  it,  the  Lonely 

and  Lovely  One. 
"Oh,  wherefore,  pray,"  I  asked  of  It,  "Do  you 

not  join  yonder  throng 

Whom  the  healing  touch  of  eternity  has  wak 
ened  into  song?" 


88  Harry   Kemp 


"I  am  neither  of  Heaven,  nor,  yet,  of  earth," 
The  Shining  Spirit  said, 

"With  pangs  and  cries  I  was  born  last  night, 
and  died  in  my  mother's  bedl" 


The  Song  of  the  Pyramid-Builders       89 


THE    SONG   OF    THE    PYRAMID- 
BUILDERS 

lived  below  the  Elephantine 
In  a  papyrus-wattled  village, 
And  swung  aloof  the  long  shadoof 
Above  our  shelves  of  tillage. 

But  Pharaoh  came  with  swords  and  spears, 

To  sound  of  flute  and  tabor: 
For  many  slaves  had  sought  their  graves, 

And  he  was  short  of  labor. 

They  marched  us  over  leagues  of  sand, 

Away  from  wife  and  chattel, 
And  grew  we  faint  or  made  complaint 

They  pricked  us  on  like  cattle. 

Then,  'neath  the  overseer's  eye, 

And  to  the  lashes'  crackle, 
We  heaved  away  from  day  to  day 

With  bar,  and  block,  and  tackle, 


90  Harry   Kemp 


And  from  our  ears  the  blood  gushed  out, 
And  cheeks  grew  ashen-hollow, — 

And  if  we  lagged  or  the  taut  ropes  sagged 
The  lash  was  sure  to  follow, — 

And  some  of  us  fell  with  twitching  loins 
And  died  of  our  endeavor — 

And  the  lash  forbore;  we  could  no  more 
If  they  beat  on  forever. 

So  week  by  week  they  dragged  us  off, 
And  bore  us  in  a  lighter 
Adown  the  Nile,  poor  carrion-pile; 
They  soaked  us  well  in  nitre, 

And  tossed  us  in  the  mummy-pit, 

Bones  cased  in  skin  like  leather  .  .  . 

But,  some  great  day,  the  prophets  say, 
We'll  all  rise  up  together, 

And  meet  our  slayers  face  to  face 
Before  the  God  who  made  us — 

Then  woe  to  him  who  crushed  the  limb, 
And  woe  to  him  who  flayed  us ! 


Song  of  a  Fairy  Wtft  91 


SONG    OF   A    FAIRY   WIFE 

r  THRIVE  on  moonbeams  dipt  in  dew; 
•*•      My  drink  is  clover  wine; 
My  dress  I  sew  of  morning  gauze 
With  needles  from  the  pine. 

My  husband  is  a  robber  bold, 

He  waylays  lab'ring  bees 
And  robs  them  of  the  golden  store 

They  carry  down  the  breeze; 

He  lurks  amid  the  moving  grass, 
A  wasp's  sting  is  his  sword;    . 

The  scrambling  beetle's  burnished  back 
He  valiantly  doth  board, 

And  breaks  him  to  the  webbed  rein  .  .  . 

We  have  a  garden,  too, 
Where  blossom  flowerets  so  small 

That  they  escape  man's  view. 


92  Harry   Kemp 


Above  our  little  cottage  roof 
There  bends  a  blade  of  grass, 

And  by  our  door  ant  caravans 
In  long  brown  columns  pass. 

Nor  do  we  envy  gods,  or  men, 
Or  purple  pomp  of  kings ; 

Enough  the  glory  and  the  joy 
We  find  in  little  things. 


Lilith  93 


LILITH 

THE  fiercest  Demon-Shape  in  hell 
Was  Lilith  fell, 
Was  Lilith  fell, 
Which  rose  a  sudden  dream  to  tell  the  dusk 

Lord  Lucifer. 

"I  saw"  ('twas  said)  "From  heaven  late 
In  golden  state 
Thro*  star-hinged  gate 
The  servants  of  the  God  I  hate 
Down  into  Chaos  stir. 

I  deem  that  He  would  make  a  world, 

Another  world, 

(His  millionth  world) 

(Red  lips  in  demon-laughter  curled) 

Thus  at  our  Fall  He  planned. 

"Then  give  me  Form  again"  ('twas  prayed) 

"Wherewith  to  invade 

Its  garden-shade — ' 

Then  leaped  the  demon  to  a  maid 

Beneath  satanic  wand! 


94  Harry    Kemp 


So  Lilith  once  more  went  the  ways, 

The  rose-red  ways, 

The  golden  ways  .   .   . 

She  scorned  like  Eve  to  drop  her  days  full  ripe 

in  Adam's  hand. 

Her  every  laugh  was  Adam's  snare, 
And,  unaware, 
Her  whims  he  bare  .  .  . 
In  a  gold  fowling  net  of  hair 
She  caught  him,  strand  on  strand. 

Like  to  the  ligure  were  her  eyes, 

Her  prescient  eyes, 

Her  subtle  eyes, 

Which,   young   for   ten   eternities,   on   former 

worlds  had  wooed. 
Adam  she  taught  forbidden  lore 
And  what  of  yore 
In  love  she  bore 
On  many  a  weird  world  before 
And  Eden-solitude. 

And  so  God  made  Eve  to  be  born 

(First  woman  born, 

And  strangely  born — 

From  a  man's  writhen  body  torn) 


Lilith  95 

He  said,  "Now  it  shall  be 

That  Eve  will  Adam  save  from  her 

Whose  dropping  myrrh 

Of  speech  doth  stir 

His  soul  within  him  to  defer 

In  that  which  pleaseth  me." 

(Already  had  the  war  begun, 

Dread  war  begun, 

Dire  war  begun 

Between  the  Serpent  and  the  Son,   for  other 

worlds  afar 

Had  felt  the  dreadful  thing  creep  in 
And  ancient  sin 
Had  set  its  gin 
To  trap  Edenic  souls  therein 
On  many  a  passed  star. 

And  as  the  night  pursues  the  day, 

The  orient  day, 

The  risen  day, 

The  Hosts  of  Hell  for  aye  and  aye  followed 

the  feet  of  God  .  .  . 
Where  He  world-specked  the  Infinite 
As  locusts  flit 
In  swarms  they  lit 

And  bit,  and  cankered  where  they  bit, 
And  shore  of  herb  his  sod. 


96  Harry   Kemp 


And  to  each  world  the  Christ  came  down, 

From  heaven  came  down, 

From  God  came  down, 

With  miracles  of  great  renown  to  disconcert 

the  Wise — 

Ten  thousand  times  was  crucified, 
And  groaned  and  died, 
With  spear-pierced  side, 
To  ope  the  gates  of  heaven  wide 
And  thwart  the  Prince  of  Lies) 

So,  tho'  that  Eve  were  white  and  fair, 

Most  lily  fair, 

Most  starry-fair, 

Adam  yet  dreamed  of  Lilith's  hair,  yea,  being 

Sire  of  men, 

He  yearned  for  her  small  kissed  face, 
And  her  embrace 
Of  elder  days 

Made  all  that  leafy  garden-place 
Seem  now  a  noisome  fen. 

Still  .  .  .  God's    great    soul-faith    doth    not 

fail!  .  .  . 
(Tho'  old  the  tale 
It  did  not  fail)    .  .  . 


Lilith  97 

His  seraphs  thro'  the  starry  hail  again  Christ's 

galleon  oar, 

And  once  more  must  the  God-Man  die, 
Must  leave  the  sky, 
Be  nailed  on  high, 
Must  know  afresh  old  agony — 
To  save  a  world  once  more  1 


98  Harry   Kemp 


THE    SONG   OF    ISRAFEL 


poet-seraph  Israfel,   chief  player  on 
the  lyre  — 
I  dreamed  he  came  to  me  last  night  with  words 

like  leaping  fire,  — 
Then  Time  became  Eternity,   then  grew  my 

vision  whole: 
I  took  His  hand;  He  led  me  forth  to  God,  a 

naked  soul! 
I  saw  a  boundless  universe  where  worlds  of 

souls  do  find 
Freedom  to  bend  and  guide  their  growth  as 

after  God's  own  mind; 
The  frightful  night  flashed  full  of  suns  as  thick 

as  sparks,  when  fall 
A  city's  roofs  in,  beam  on  beam,  wall  upon 

crashing  wall  — 
Around  them  little  jeweled  worlds  like  emer 

ald  insects  drove 
Which  spread  and  close  in  phalanx  small  within 

some  shady  grove. 
From  heaven's   awful  parapets  I  viewed  the 

mighty  scene 


The  Song   of  Israfel  99 

While  rose  the  Seraph's  silver  voice  majestic 
and  serene: 

"God's  eye,  alone,  can  count  these  suns  (He 
knows  nor  space  nor  bound), 

And  tributary  worlds,  alive  with  beings,  gird 
them  round; 

And  thro'  all  space,  from  Deep  to  Deep,  above 
the  blinded  throng, 

Great  poets  coin  their  labored  thought  into 
golden  song, 

And  sculptors  chip  the  stubborn  stone,  and  art 
ists  dream,  and  dare 

To  give  the  Inner  Vision  birth  with  colors  rich 
and  rare; 

Musicians  woo  the  Infinite  half  into  finite  clasp, 

As  children  reach  for  butterflies  just  poised  be 
yond  the  grasp.  .  .  . 

Five  peep-holes  for  the  soul  has  earth  .  .  . 
And  other  worlds  have  more, 

Or  not  as  many  .   .  .   Mayhap  two,  or  three 

.  .  .  Or  half  a  score.  .  .  . 

Some  stellar  eyes  more  colors  see  where  larger 
spectrums  thrill; 

On  some  world's  Music's  silver  sighs  a  wider 
gamut  fill : 

And  thus  unnumbered  worlds  build  souls,  a 
million  earths  are  trod 


ioo  Harry   Kemp 


By  other  souls,  which,  in  their  way,  have  their 

dim  dreams  of  God. 
Nor  reach  ye  aught  beyond  their  grasp:  your 

eyes,  too,  vague  and  dim, 
Clutch  at  the  rainbow  of  his  face  and  hanker 

after  Him. 
Strange  bodies  souls  inhabit,  sure,  round  Algol's 

sullen  suns 

Where  thro'  tremendous-arched  skies  the  light 
ning  skips  and  runs, 
And  Alpha  of  the  Centaur  thralls  what  worlds 

bizarre  and  fair? 
And  who  can  limn  the  hidden  life  that  circles 

round  Altair? 
And  earths  have  perished  on  which  God  has 

builded  up  the  soul, 
While  more  worlds,  thro'  eternity,  must  seek 

the  selfsame  goal!" 

No  more  I  heard!  The  crystal  globe  of  speech 
unuttered  broke, 

The  vision  faded  from  my  dream,  and  in  the 
night  I  woke; 

Yet  not  in  vain  the  Wonder  came — God  wot, 
my  soul  had  heard 

The  Song  that  soars,  the  Song  that  leaps,  be 
yond  the  Written  Word ! 


Suspicion  10.1 


SUSPICION 

T  SEE    no    good   in    anything,    but   aye   the 

•^      shadow  of  an  ill, 

And  behind  every  windy  copse  I  fear  an  am 
bush  lurking  still. 

Beneath  each  simple  word  well-meant  I  burrow 
for  the  deep  design. 

My  feet  are  wary  of  the  springe.  I  fear  the 
under-flaming  mine. 

Nothing  there  is,  as  erst  of  old,  that  takes  my 
being  sweet  and  whole.  .  .  . 

Nay,  this  is  death  instead  of  life.  May  God 
have  mercy  on  my  soul ! 


IO2  Harry   Kemp 


IMPENITENCE 

T  REJOICE  that  I  have  sinned, 
•*•      I  am  glad  that  ONCE  I  cast 
All  my  scruples  to  the  wind — 
Thus  I  gathered  life  at  last 

I  am  glad  that  I  have  gone 

Where  no  honest  thing  is  seen, 

Dared  the  night  to  feel  the  dawn 
Wash  about  me  large  and  clean, 

All  the  mystery  of  ill 

Gathered  into  force  in  me, 

Of  all  evil  I  took  skill 
And  it  taught  me  purity. 

Nay,  there  lingers  no  regret: 
I  have  looked  thro'  other  eyes, 

Loosing  folly  without  let 

That  I  might  wax  folly-wise. 


Impenitence  103 


Now  with  charity  I  scan 

Those  who  lurk  where  I  have  been, 
For  HIS  lips  condemn  no  man, 

Who  has  suffered,  who  has  seen. 


IO4  Harry   Kemp 


IN   A    CHOP-SUEY   JOINT 


up  a  flight  of  darkly-winding  stair, 
Push  through  a  swinging  door,  and  you 

are  there. 

The  ceiling  lowers  low  with  strange  design 
Where   fire-mouthed   dragons   coil   and   inter 

twine. 

The  joss-sticks'  thin  blue  vapor  creeps  about 
Like  prisoned  spirit  seeking  some  way  out, 
And  slipshod  waiters  shuffle  silent  by 
With  rustling  garments  and  quaint-slanted  eye. 
If  you  but  fold  your  sight  you  are  away 
In  some  quaint  yellow  corner  of  Cathay, 
Lost  in  a  garden  of  hand-monstered  trees 
And  exquisite  uncouth  barbarities 
Where  threats  a  eunuch  one-eyed  like  a  star 
Towering  malignant  with  a  scimitar. 

Now    the    sun-smitten    highway,    where    there 

plies 
His  trade  the  beggar  with  self-blinded  eyes. 


In  a  Chop-Suey  Joint  105 

Now,     drowning    pastoral    matin,     woodland 

song, 
From  a  great  temple  booms  a  brazen  gong.  .  .  . 

The  streets  with  chattering  hordes  are  over- 
sped 

Like  swarming  vermin  in  a  beggar's  head; 

And,  here  and  there,  amongst  the  long-cued 
horde, 

A  coolie-borne  palanquin  speaks  a  Lord.  .  .  . 

The  spell  is  broken  .  .  .  Here's  some  tea  to 
quaff  .  .  . 

Hark!  from  behind  yon  flower-damasked  screen 

There  breaks  a  coarse,  loud-mouthed,  salacious 
laugh 

Pregnant  with  goatish  lusts  and  deeds  ob 
scene  .  .  . 

It  is  some  tawdry  prostitute,  I  guess, 

Whose  voice  betrays  her  painted  wantonness. 


106  Harry   Kemp 


LONELINESS 

TN  my  breast  a  lonely  heart 
•*•     Echoes  like  a  drum  of  doom, 
And  one  feeble,  dim-lit  lamp 

Glimmers  in  this  gloomy  room; 
In  the  topmost  of  the  sky 

Shines  a  solitary  star — 
O,  how  separate  and  lone 

All  of  God's  creations  are. 


The   Bird   of  Paradise  107 


THE   BIRD    OF    PARADISE 

'TAHOU   art  perfected  splendor  without  the 

peacock's  feet, 
And  only  the  manna-dew  of  heaven  thou  dost 

eat, 

Bird  of  many  colors,  kinsman  to  the  dawn, 
Richer  in  rare  hues  than  the  iris  heaven-drawn! 
But  sad  it  is  to  think  that  any  ruthless  clown 
With  the  cunning  of  a  blow-pipe  may  bring  thy 

beauty  down. 


io8  Harry   Kemp 


FISHERMEN 

[The  Jersey  Coast] 

HPHEY    stand  as  still  as  shapes  in  bronze, 

great-bodied,  pipe  in  mouth; 
A   slant-stacked   steamer   trails   the    sky   with 

smoke,  against  the  South; 
Far  out  they  watch  the  toiling  tides  that  lift  in 

crests  of  foam, 
Alert  to  glimpse  the  rippled  stir  where  schools 

of  bluefish  roam; 
They    seldom   move,    they   seldom   break   the 

fancy  of  the  eye 
That  makes  them  seem  a  common  part  of  earth 

and  sea  and  sky.  .   .  . 

A  space  beyond,  the  bathing  folk  along  a  sand- 
strip  run, 
And  pasty-visaged  city  groups  slouch  shaded 

from  the  sun, — 
And,  of  a  sudden,  as  in  dream,  on  either  hand 

I  see 
The  crush  and  roar  of  modern  life — and  Christ 

in  Galilee! 


A   Prayer  109 


A    PRAYER 

T  KNEEL  not  now  to  pray  that  thou 
Make  white  one  single  sin, — 
I  only  kneel  to  thank  thee,  Lord, 
For  what  I  have  not  been; 

For  deeds  which  sprouted  in  my  heart 
But  ne'er  to  bloom  were  brought, 

For  monstrous  vices  which  I  slew 
In  the  shambles  of  my  thought — 

Dark  seeds  the  world  has  never  guessed 

By  hell  and  passion  bred, 
Which  never  grew  beyond  the  bud 

That  cankered  in  my  head. 

Some  said  I  was  a  righteous  man- 
Poor  fools !    The  gallow's  tree 

(If  thou  hadst  let  one  foot  to  slip) 
Had  grown  a  limb  for  me. 


no  Harry   Kemp 


So  for  the  Man  I  might  have  been 
My  heart  must  cease  to  mourn — 

'Twere  best  to  praise  the  living  Lord 
For  monsters  never  born, 

To  bend  the  spiritual  knee 
(Knowing  myself  within) 

And  thank  the  kind,  benignant  God 
For  what  I  have  not  been. 


The   Star   of   God's   Malison        III 


THE    STAR   OF   GOD'S    MALISON 

TTANGING  leprous  and  white  in  the  wide 

universe 
Was  a  star  done  to  death  by  the  hand  of  God's 

curse. 

Each  mount  was  an  island  suspended  in  air, 
And  petrified  hurricanes  hung  here  and  there 
In  impotent  menace;  whole  forests  inclined 
Were  frozen  one  way  by  a  visible  wind; 
Like  death-shrouded  lava  the  face  of  the  Deep 
Paused  in  green  convolutions,   in  masses  did 

stand 
Along  the  dread  hush  of  a  desolate  land. 


112  Harry   Kemp 


HELL'S    RESURRECTION 


saffron-colored  stars  of  Hell 
Diminished  one  by  one; 
Their  lustres  into  grayness  fell  — 
The  New  Age  had  begun; 

And  Satan's  yellow  gonfalons 

Like  baleful  meteors  broke 
(Above  his  seething  myrmidons) 

Thro'  heaving  bulks  of  smoke, 

As  at  the  Gates  of  Bliss  they  clung 

In  this  last  hopeless  war, 
Ere  Hell  sloped  down  the  void,  far-flung, 

Like  some  dismembered  star; 


At  that  same  moment  every  rose 

Forsook  its  spiked  thorn; 
The  North  put  warmth  into  its  snows, 

Nor  pushed  with  boreal  horn; 


Hell's  Resurrection  113 

The  spider  laddered  patterns  wove 

Across  the  cannon's  mouth, 
And  frankincense  and  myrrh  and  clove 

Breathed  each  wind  full  of  South; 


The  serpent-sinuous  wiles  of  Sin 
Assailed  the  sense  no  more, 

And  wine,  with  bubbling  demons  in, 
To  snare  the  soul  forbore. 


Mankind  was  first  to  cry  complaint: 
Art  lost  all  hues  but  white; 

Song  found  no  subject  but  the  saint 
And  dropped  its  wings  ere  flight. 


There  grew  no  need  for  Book  and  Bell, 

And  churches  tumbled  in; 
From  her  high  honor  Virtue  fell, 

For  GOD  had  vanquished  Sin. 


A  sadness  touched  e'en  Heaven,  then, 

And  shadows  of  despair; 
No  worship  mounted  up  from  men, — 

And  angels  live  on  prayer — 


H4  Harry   Kemp 


"Ah,  bring  back  Sin!"    The  Seraphim 

In  mystic  cadence  cried. 
"Ah,  once  more  make  our  sunshine  dim 

With  Death!"    Creation  sighed. 

So  Death  and  Sin  took  up  their  way 
Among  mankind  once  more, 

And  Hell  burst  into  dreadful  day 
As  it  had  flamed  of  yore  1 


/  Sing  the  Battle  115 


I   SING   THE    BATTLE 

T  SING  the  song  of  the  great  clean  guns  that 
•^      belch  forth  death  at  will. 
Ah,  but  the  wailing  mothers,  the  lifeless  forms 
and  still! 

I  sing  the  song  of  the  billowing  flags,  the  bugles 

that  cry  before. 
Ah,  but  the  skeletons  flapping  rags,  the  lips 

that  speak  no  more ! 

I  sing  the  clash  of  bayonets  and  sabers  that 

flash  and  cleave. 
And  wilt  thou  sing  the  maimed  ones,  too,  that 

go  with  pinned-up  sleeve? 

I  sing  acclaimed  generals  that  bring  the  victory 
home. 

Ah,  but  the  broken  bodies  that  drip  like  honey 
comb! 


1 1 6  Harry   Kemp 


I    sing   of    hosts    triumphant,    long   ranks    of 

marching  men. 
And  wilt  thou   sing   the   shadowy  hosts   that 

never  march  again? 


The    Conquerors  117 


THE    CONQUERORS 

T  SAW  the  Conquerors  riding  by 

•*•      With  trampling  feet  of  horse  and  men 

Empire  on  empire  like  the  tide 

Flooded  the  world  and  ebbed  again; 

A  thousand  banners  caught  the  sun, 
And  cities  smoked  along  the  plain, 

And  laden  down  with  silk  and  gold 

And  heaped-up  pillage  groaned  the  wain. 

I  saw  the  Conquerors  riding  by, 

Splashing  through  loathsome  floods  of  war — 
The  Crescent  leaning  o'er  its  hosts, 

And  the  barbaric  scimitar, — 

And  continents  of  moving  spears, 

And  storms  of  arrows  in  the  sky, 
And  all  the  instruments  sought  out 

By  cunning  men  that  men  may  die ! 


n8  Harry   Kemp 


I  saw  the  Conquerors  riding  by 
With  cruel  lips  and  faces  wan: 

Musing  on  kingdoms  sacked  and  burned 
There  rode  the  Mongol  Ghengis  Khan; 

And  Alexander,  like  a  god, 

Who  sought  to  weld  the  world  in  one ; 
And  Caesar  with  his  laurel  wreath; 

And  like  a  thing  from  Hell  the  Hun ; 

And,  leading  like  a  star  the  van, 

Heedless  of  upstretched  arm  and  groan, 

Inscrutable  Napoleon  went 

Dreaming  of  empire,  and  alone  .  .  . 

Then  all  they  perished  from  the  earth 
As  fleeting  sliadows  from  a  glass, 

And,  conquering  down  the  centuries, 
Came  Christ,  the  Swordless,  on  an  ass! 


Geology  119 


TTTHAT  matter  if  my  life  be  passed 

*  '         In  laughter  or  in  tears  and  groans? 
Some  day,  compressed  within  a  rock, 

They'll  find  the  lime  that  made  my  bones. 


I2O  Harry   Kemp 


VIEWPOINT 


TIT'HEN  Dante  in  old  Florence  walked  the 
*  *        street 

(The  same  whom  Beatrice  in  heaven  did  greet) 
Full  many  a  member  of  the  pygmy  clan 
Whispered    with    laughter,    "Yon's    a    crazy 
manl" 


In  Debt  121 


IN    DEBT 


T^ACH  man  a  general  debt  to  mankind  owes 
*^      For  all  he  is,  all  he  enjoys,  and  knows, — 
And  he  who  dares  the  least  of  men  to  ban 
Is  just  so  many  stages  less  a  man. 


122  Harry   Kemp 


LOVELY    CHILD 

T    OVELY  child,  make  haste  to  play 
•"-^     While  the  dew  is  on  your  day — 
Half  a  score  of  years  ahead 
You  will  labor  for  your  bread. 


Paul    and    Omar  123 


PAUL   AND    OMAR 

[They  were  both  tent-makers  by  trade] 

/TAWO  tent-makers  in  different  ages  born — 
•"          One  played  a  lute,    one  blew  an  iron 

horn. 
One  cried  that  flesh  was  weak  and  life  was 

wrong, 
The  other,  "Only  wine  and  love  are  strong." 

Omar,  I  share  not  all  thy  brimming  bowl, 
Nor,  Paul,  would  I,  like  thee,  be  naught  but 

soul  .  .  . 

Player  of  careless  lute,  blower  of  horn, 
I  pluck  the  rose,  nor  shrink  I  from  the  thorn. 


124  Harry   Kemp 


MT.    RANTER 

ONOW-GARMENTED,  immense, 
^      And  holding  audience 

With  subject  clouds,  he  seems  to  poise  in 

air, — 

And  at  his  mighty  base 
An  hundred  towns  find  place 

And  two  great  cities  rival-thewed  and  fair. 

Above  him,  without  bound, 
The  heavens  arch  profound, 

As  loverlike  he  greets  the  risen  sun. 
His  diamond-scattered  snows 
Reflect  the  golden  glows 

And  purple  glooms  of  eve  as  day  is  done. 

There  mile  on  mile  he  shines 
Above  his  ragged  pines, 

An  empire  tributary  to  his  view: 
Ten  thousand  wealthy  farms, 
The  blue  Sound's  gleaming  arms, 

The  distant  ocean's  wavering  edge  of  blue. 


Mt.    Rattier 


There  all  the  star-hushed  night, 
Like  a  great  ghost  in  white, 

He  communes  with  the  Spirit  of  the  Dark, 
While  murmuring  below 
Life's  tides  of  being  flow 

And  cities  gleam  like  shards  which  flash  a 
spark. 

How  many  thousand  years 
Of  human  hopes  and  fears 

He's  known  the  sun  and  stars,  no  voice  may 

tell- 
But  long  ere  humankind 
Groped  slowly  into  mind 

He  hushed  primeval  forests  with  his  spell. 

How  many  thousand  years 
Of  human  hopes  and  fears 

He  yet  shall  tower  1  till  his  slaughtered  trees 
Have  risen  far  and  wide 
As  homes  where  folk  may  bide 

In  many  smoky  cities  at  his  knees. 

And  then  when  man  is  dust 
Still  with  His  shoulders  thrust 


126  Harry   Kemp 


The    black    cloud-tumult    of    the    storm    in 

twain ! 

When  Life  shall  cease  to  be 
He  still  will  greet  the  sea 

Far-flashing  monarch  of  a  dead  domain. 


The  Voice  of  Christmas  127 


THE   VOICE    OF    CHRISTMAS 

T  CANNOT  put  the  Presence  by,  of  Him,  the 

•*•      Crucified, 

Who  moves  men's  spirits  with  His  Love  as 

doth  the  moon  the  tide; 
Again  I  see  the  Life  He  lived,   the  godlike 

Death  He  died. 

Again  I  see  upon  the  cross  that  great  Soul- 
battle  fought, 

Into  the  texture  of  the  world  the  tale  of  which 
is  wrought 

Until  it  hath  become  the  woof  of  human  deed 
and  thought, — 

And,  joining  with  the  cadenced  bells  that  all 

the  morning  fill, 
His  cry  of  agony  doth  yet  my  inmost  being 

thrill, 
Like  some  fresh  grief  from  yesterday  that  tears 

the  heart-strings  still. 


128  Harry   Kemp 


I  cannot  put  His  Presence  by,  I  meet  Him 
everywhere; 

I  meet  Him  in  the  country  town,  the  busy  mar 
ket-square; 

The  Mansion  and  the  Tenement  attest  His 
Presence  there. 

Upon  the  funneled  ships  at  sea  He  sets  His 

shining  feet; 
The  Distant  Ends  of  Empire  not  in  vain  His 

Name  repeat, — 
And,  like  the  presence  of  a  rose,  He  makes  the 

whole  world  sweet. 

He  comes  to  break  the  barriers  down  raised 
up  by  barren  creeds; 

About  the  globe  from  zone  to  zone  like  sun 
light  He  proceeds; 

He  comes  to  give  the  World's  starved  heart 
the  perfect  love  it  needs, 

The  Christ  Whose  friends  have  played  Him 
false,  Whom  Dogmas  have  belied, 

Still  speaking  to  the  hearts  of  men — Tho' 
shamed  and  crucified, 

The  Master  of  the  Centuries  Who  will  not  be 
denied  I 


The    Moth's    Song  129 


THE    MOTH'S    SONG 

good  to  be  the  moth  that  seeks  the 
flame, 

To  rush  in  on  it,  sudden,  from  the  night  — 
What  tho'  I,  blackened,  perish  at  the  same  — 
Do  I  not  find  the  glory  of  the  Light! 


130  Harry   Kemp 


THIS    PALTRY    "I" 

AT  times  I  sicken  of  this  paltry  "I," 

At   times   it   seems   oblivion   would  be 

good.  .  .  . 

'Tis  hard  to  know  the  truth  and  live  the  lie, 
Caught  in  the  maelstrom  of  the  multitude, 
And,  in  the  common  cloth  of  fools  endued, 
To  think  like  God  and  like  an  insect  die. 
To  give  up  what  I  have  not  were  not  vain. 
Call  you  this  Life  I  drag  from  day  to  day? 
My  dreams  have  wings  of  fire,  but  crawl  in 

clay. 
I    see    the    heights,    yet    cannot    leave    the 

plain.  .  .  . 

O,  He  is  cruel  who  makes  known  the  way 
And  gives  not  strength  the  summit  to  attain ! 


Prt  destination  131 


PREDESTINATION 

is  no  peace  for  the  blowing  leaf, 
The  end  of  his  journey  he  never  knows: 
He  lifts  from  the  ground  with  an  upward  heave 
Or  settles,  as  lulls  the  wind  or  blows. 

And  he  ever  pretends  to  his  traveling  friends 
Mottled  with  crimson,  dappled  with  fire, 

That  he  knows  the  country  to  which  he  wends, 
That  he  shapes  his  ways  to  his  own  desire. 


132  Harry   Kemp 


SIGHT    BEYOND   SIGHT 

TF  the  good  Lord  had  but  restored 

•*•     My  sight,  that  were  unkind 
To  wend  abroad  and  stare  and  nod 
And  yet  within  be  blind! 

But  with  that  hand  and  that  command 
That  filled  the  eye  with  light 

He  gave  to  me  the  gift  to  see 
Beyond  the  reach  of  sight. 


/  Deemed  I  Dwelt  Alone  133 


I    DEEMED    I    DWELT   ALONE 

T  DEEMED  I  dwelt  alone. 

•*•      I  felt  my  life  beat  single  in  my  breast. 

And  then  I  looked  about: 

The  myriad  lives  that  murmur  in  the  grass, 

The  million  dwellers  'neath 

Each  moss-enchased  and  lichen-spotted  stone 

Called,  "Friend,  take  thought  of  us — 

We  too  aspire  and  dream  our  insect  dreams!" 


134  Harty  Kemp 


THE    THRESHING    MACHINE 


'T^HE  green,  fresh  jackets  of  eared  corn 

looked  cool  amid  the  vibrant  heat 
As  we  trod  the  stacks,  and  flung,  day-long,  the 

yellow  bundles  of  corded  wheat 
Into  the  maw  of  the  threshing  machine,  while 

the  curved  knives  glinted  in  the  sun 

As  they  swept  with  a  periodic  whirr  and  clove 

the  bundles,  one  by  one. 
The  ever-recurring  coil  of  the  belt  in  a  black 

ellipse  sped  round  and  round, 
And  the  chuff  and  snort  of  the  engine's  breath 

the  lowing  of  pastured  cattle  drowned.  .  .  . 

Stack  after  stack  our  sturdy  arms  fed  into  the 

jaws  of  the  toothed  machine 
While  the  blowing-funnel  heaped  behind  the 

threshed  straw  separate  and  clean, 
And  the  farmers  backed  their  wagons  up  and 

held  brown  bags  to  a  magic  spout 


The    Threshing   Machine  135 

From  which,  in  intermittent  streams,  the  yellow 

grain  came  rushing  out. 
When  amber  twilight  softly  laid  its  shadows 

on  the  rustling  corn, 
We  stacked  our  forks,  untrussed  the  belts,  and 

gladly  answered  the  supper-horn — 
And,   said  the  foreman,  as  we   sat  at  board, 

with  hunger  whetted  keen, 
"Let  poets  sing  of  flails  and  such — But  7  thank 

God  for  the  threshing  machine  1" 


136  Harry  Kemp 


THE  CABLES  AND  THE  WIRELESS 

/TAHE    cable-operators   swore  because  they 
-*•        had  lost  a  word, 

And   the    wireless-workers    wondered    why    a 
break  in  the  code  occurred.  .  .  . 

The  plaint  of  the  Deep-sea  Cables  as  they  lie 

"in  their  sunless  bed 
While  liners  flit  like  wind-blown  clouds  through 

the  watery  vast  o'erhead; 
Couched  soft  in  ever-dripping  ooze,  and  cov 
ered  with  living  shells 
Alive  with  innumerable  things  and  inquisitive 

tentacles, 
O'er   ridges   of  tide-washed  mountains,   thro' 

fish-haunted  valleys  they  go ; 
Above  them  the  ponderous  waters  swing  and 

the  crashing  tempests  blow, 
And  many  a  night  the  Milky  Way  bends  its 

magnificent  bow 
Along  the  vault  of  the  star-vast  sky,  its  glory 

reflected  below; 


The    Cables    and    the    Wireless       137 

Its  smoke's  blue  hint  on  the  heaven's  edge  the 

lone  tramp  steamer  trails, 
And  day  by  day  great  ships  sweep  by  with  flash 

and  glimmer  of  sails, 
While    deep    in    watery    empires    dim    where 

silence  brims  to  the  shores 
The  lightning-footed  messages  leap  along  the 

ocean-floors  .  .   . 
The  plaint  of  the  Deep-sea  Cables  beholding 

their  empire  done, 

Of  every  office  stripped  to  clothe  the  Newly- 
Anointed  One : 
"For  many  a  year,  alone,  obscure,  we've  toiled 

unceasing  for  Man 
And  added  as  suburbs  to  London  the  cities  of 

teeming  Japan; 
We've  dragged  our  lengths  laboriously  from 

Deep  to  profounder  Deep, 
And  harnessed  our  souls  to  the  will  of  Him — 

and,  lo,  the  reward  we  reap ! 
For  He  has  discovered  a  feminine  thing  that 

runs  with  the  great  winds  free 
Over  the  leagues  of  the  steadfast  land  and  the 

shifting  acres  of  sea; 
She   steals    the   warm   live    words    from   our 

mouths,  and  now  they  will  let  us  lie 


138  Harry   Kemp 


Abandoned  amid  the  ooze  and  shells,  to  drop 

to  pieces  and  die, 
Here  with  the  rotten  hulks  of  ships  and  the 

bones  of  mariners, 
No  more  to  throb  with  the  rapid  tide  of  human 

passions  and  fears." 

Now  the  sensitive  heart  of  the  Wireless  by  the 

grief  of  her  forbears  was  stirred, 
And,  bending  above  them,  she  sent  them  the 

balm  of  a  soothing  word: 
uBe  silent,  ye  Deep-sea  Cables!     Your  echoing 

voices  arouse 
The  sleep  and  the  sloth  of  the  ocean  and  the 

things  which  inhabit  his  house; 
Chide  not,  for  I  too  am  the  vassal,  like  you, 

of  the  effort  of  Man 
To  push  further  back  the  horizon  toward  the 

verge  of  the  Infinite  Plan. 
And  perhaps  in  the  widening  ages  and  the  mani 
fold  days  which  ensue 
I  too  must  step  down  from  my  conquest,  and 

render  my  wand  to  a  new 
And  swifter-footed  Invention,  which,   leaping 

the  chasm  to  Mars, 
Will  link  all  the  planets  together  in  a  common 

code  of  the  stars, 


The    Cables    and    the    Wireless       139 

And  a  large  and  unthought-of  communion  will 

tie  on  its  sandals  and  run 
Its  errands  from  planet  to  planet — from  the 

flaming  hills  of  the  sun 
To  the  swing  of  the  outermost  orbit  'twill  flash 

on  its  messages,  free, 
As  I  thro'  the  wide  air-ocean,  as  you  thro'  the 

deeps  of  the  sea." 

Then  the  Wireless  resumed  her  travail,  and 
peace  reigned  again  as  of  yore, 

And  the  Cables  gave  over  their  clamor  and 
bickered  and  fretted  no  more.  .  .  . 

But  the  Cable  Operators  swore  because  they 

had  lost  a  word, 
And  the  Wireless-Workers   wondered  why  a 

break  in  the  code  occurred. 


14°  Harry   Kemp 


THE  CRY  OF  YOUTH 

T  HEARD  Youth  crying  in  the  night: 
"Gone  is  my  former  world-delight; 
For  there  is  naught  my  feet  may  stay; 
The  morn  suffuses  into  day, 
It  dare  not  stand  a  moment  still 
But  must  the  world  with  light  fulfil. 
More  evanescent  than  the  rose, 
My  sudden  rainbow  comes  and  goes 
Plunging  bright  ends  across  the  sky — 
Yea,  I  am  Youth  because  I  die!'* 


— — 


REC.CIR  JW.    1 

MAY  2  8  1937 


LD  21-50m.l,'33 


YB  768C9 


,  u.  c 


3G0409 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


